Three Novembers Ago
by theravenclawquill
Summary: Still-heartbroken friends Rachel and Chandler reunite. Together, they can console each other - and maybe try to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. Randler. CxR
1. Charles De Gaulle and The Bakery

(A/N) Hello! I'm back with another Randler fic! :D This one is a lot different from my first one (TOW the Central Perk Receipt), but I really wanted to write it. I was inspired by several things - one, I discovered this really cool genre recently called '1sentence'.. check some out here on FF! It's basically a form of fic-writing that includes a collection of sentences that don't follow a chronological pattern, and the reader has to piece a plot together. However, I did a different spin on it because I didn't think I could limit myself to one sentence per scenario. Also, I recently finished A Time Traveler's Wife - and I was soo struck by the beauty of the format. Lastly, I wanted to challenge myself with this kind of out-of-order writing (I've never tried it). So it might be confusing, but die-hard Friends fans can probably do alright following along the timeline. Feel free to ask me to clarify anything! :)

Background info: this fic follows the regular seasons, but has Rachel actually following through with moving to Paris for her LV job. Anything that occurs after that is my invention. :) Alright, enough rambling! Onwards! :)

* * *

December 2007

A slim woman, her twinkling eyes half-obstructed by a stylish fringe of blond bangs, was waving her arms ecstatically in his direction.

For a second, Chandler Bing was tempted to look around him for the undoubtedly chiseled, cologne laden, Armani suited businessman that would most likely be acquainted with such a woman…. but then he realized.

"Chandler! Over here!"

He grinned. _Of course. I'm him. Albeit less chiseled and less scented, and, well, this suit is from Ross (the friend and not the discount retailer, at least.) But nonetheless, I'm the guy she's waiting for. _

Chandler felt a ripple of uncharacteristic pride as several men turned their heads in the direction of the woman's excited waves, all wondering to themselves who the lucky bastard was. More than one saw Chandler waving back and thought incredulously, "Seriously? That guy?" – and, with a lingering glance at the woman's legs – "_C'est dommage_. What a shame."

When Chandler finally fought through the throng of people and reached his friend, he dropped his heavy duffel bags and exhaled deeply, simply smiling at her and letting it all sink in.

He was here. She was here – and had handled her charm with time exceptionally well, it looked like.

He smiled. She smiled. The noisy airport rushed on.

Finally, she extended her arms in a welcoming embrace fitting for two friends who hadn't seen each other in – _how long had it been? _– three years. The thin gold bracelets on her wrist jingled. Her left ring finger was bare.

"Hi, handsome," she grinned, squeezing her old friend as tightly as she squeezed her eyes shut. Until this moment in which they stood in embrace, she hadn't realized how much she'd missed these constants of her old life. The nostalgia gave her a slight zoomy feeling in the depths of her stomach and caught in her throat. "Been working out lately?"

Chandler had forgotten how much he'd loved Rachel's voice – that smooth, sweet chime that comforted him so many times in the past, or exchanged witty banter with him, or – in his guest room at her goodbye party – dealt him that final "I love you."

"Hi, Pinocchio," he joked back. Some things never changed. "Been lying lately?" He smirked and tapped Rachel lightly on the nose for good measure. Then he sighed, downshifting to serious. "God. I've missed you."

* * *

August 2005

It had been a whole year, but bus driver Nils Jansen was still haunted by that day. He remembered the details with almost cruel clarity (It's funny how that works, isn't it? – you can't, for the life of you, remember to pick up your daughter from ballet class every Tuesday, but you are constantly remembering the only day you wish you could forget).

It was November 17, 2004. Approximately 9:45 in the morning. A brisk 50 degrees. It had smelled like freshly baked bread.

The beautiful woman who had been so enraptured by the bakery's warm loaf in her hands that she hadn't seen the bus coming at her before she stepped into the street.

* * *

July 2010

Phoebe Buffay-Hannigan made her way back from the mailbox tentatively, in fear that her annoying neighbor with a propensity for whistling 90's pop songs would pop out from behind the bushes at any moment.

Recognizing that the coast was clear, she flipped open the brass latch of the white picket fence. _She had always wanted the house with the white picket fence. _A day didn't go by when Phoebe didn't guiltily think that to herself each time she touched the brass latch.

_Bills, bills, bank statement… ooh, my Aroma of the Month pamphlet! …Wait. What's this? _Phoebe regarded the unfamiliar address on an unfamiliar white envelope. _Where the hell is Rue? _Both her and Mike's names were scrawled on it, in a loopy cursive font and a heart where the 'O' in her name should have been. Phoebe tore the letter open with her teeth and walked indoors, so curious that she didn't even notice her sleepy husband greeting her with a cup of coffee.

* * *

April 2004

Chandler walked into his green guest room in a daze, with heavy feet and heavy heart. _Green. So green. _Why had he never realized how… sickly that color choice was? It had seemed alright – serene, even – when Monica had selected it, but now it only seemed to match the vomit that was threatening to spill from his mouth.

_Green. So green._

_Rachel Green. _

He fiddled with the mysterious handcuffs as he stared back at Rachel, hands clasped, tears already beginning to fill her eyes.

"Oh, honey," Rachel murmured.

But her voice was the thing that should've been deemed as such – so gentle, so genuinely tender, so sweet like honey.

Now, though, it was also filled with sadness. Chandler thought he would probably break down himself if he had to hear another word come out of Rachel's mouth in that heart-wrenchingly wistful tone.

He stopped her short, and they hugged goodbye. He didn't realize how soon after that they would meet again.

* * *

January 2005

The pile of paperwork on the desk of Sue Lynch gaped up at her with their sharp, 12-point font teeth.

She hated this part. This didn't happen very often, and she didn't know what custom dictated in these situations. Did she board up the windows? Did she put the house back on the market? If she did, what would she explain to future house hunters?

The phone rang, jolting her alert. She grabbed it.

"Hello, Sue Lynch, realtor. How may I help you?"

* * *

December 2007

"God, Paris is absolutely beautiful this time of year," Rachel gushed, pushing open the door of the chic vintage boutique she had just dropped a cool 200 euro in. "Ah_, la belle __Paris!_ You're so lucky you got assigned here so close to the holidays."

Chandler raised his eyebrows at how many carrier bags Rachel was now toting on her thin wrist. "Uh, need a little help there, Richie Rich?"

"Huh?" Rachel regarded her bags. "Oh. Yeah, thanks, Chandler." She dumped all but one in his arms.

Chandler staggered a little, but only grimaced to himself and continued listening to Rachel chatter on about Fashion Week.

They were currently strolling along the Champs Elysees. It was about 8:30 at night, and they had just finished eating dinner at a cute little café near the Arc du Triomphe – near Chandler's hotel room. They had caught up on old times over smoked salmon and sipped red wine as they watched the Parisian nightlife pass them by. "Aprez- dinner" shopping had been Rachel's idea, but Chandler didn't mind. He was enjoying hanging out with her.

And she was right – Paris really _was_ beautiful this time of year. The Champs was lit up with thousands of lights strung throughout the row of trees – all the way down past the high end shops to where the street ended at the Arch.

Both Chandler and Rachel had lived near the smaller, Washington Square replica of the Arch back in New York, but here they were now – in view of the real one. To Chandler, it seemed slightly symbolic – if he'd majored in English rather than Finance in college, he'd probably use words like 'cyclical, parallel, coming full-circle.'

He tuned back in to Rachel's conversation, noticing how effortlessly she dropped in French phrases here and there. Chandler smiled and thought about how it had just seemed like yesterday when a culture-deficient Rachel had been turned on by Phoebe's French skills, and had bid them a final "Au Revoir" from the doorway, in such a thick American accent that it had come out more like "Aw River."

_Now look at her. _

_What a difference three years makes, _Chandler mused, realizing how true this was for his own life as well.

* * *

December 1997

"Are you sure?" Rachel fussed, pulling down the hem of her little black dress for the millionth time. "I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea."

"Yes," Chandler sighed. "I'm sure. You don't look like a slut, Rach. In fact, you're practically a nun."

"Really?"

"Yes." Although, if he had to be completely honest, Rachel's dress _was_ a little short – but he thought she looked amazing in it. Hot, even. "Well, from the top up, at least." That was the truth, as her dress was long-sleeved and crew-necked, but wrapped like a bandage to her body and ended high above her thighs, endless legs and peep-toe black heels.

"Okay," Rachel grumbled, shooting glares over her shoulder. "Fine. But I just don't like the way some of these guys are looking at me. And I could've sworn I heard one of them refer to me as 'Hot Rachel'."

"Really? Bastards; I've been working with these guys for years and they've never given me a nickname." Chandler paused. "'Small WENUS Bing' doesn't count."

Rachel chuckled and refilled her cocktail glass.

"Cheers. Merry Christmas." They drank.

Through the corner of his eye, Chandler noticed his coworker Patrick leering at Rachel enviously, and he felt an inexplicable surge of possessiveness. Not taking his eyes off Patrick, Chandler took Rachel's hand gently and wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

"Don't worry, Rach. Everyone here knows you're here as _my_ date tonight," he said, giving her a charming, moon-eyed smile.

"Aw thanks, hon." She smiled back. "But can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can you take your hand off my ass?"

"… Fine."

* * *

November 2004

Monica Geller breathed in the brisk New York morning air and turned down the volume of her iPod as she pushed the button for the crosswalk.

It had been almost half a year since Rachel had moved to Paris for her new job, but Monica still missed her best friend all the same. The last time they had spoken had been a long chat over the phone – but Rachel had been busy working on Paris Fashion Week and had to cut the conversation short.

"Talk to you soon, sweetie!" she had chirped before being hauled off to take notes on some more rail-thin models.

Monica sighed, mentally counting the days until Rachel said she'd return home for a visit. Her flight was already booked – that was good.

_Mm… what is that? _Monica smiled and inhaled happily, enjoying the delicious aroma coming from the store behind her. Her chef's intuition kicked in. _Do I smell… sesame? A dash of oregano? Extra virgin olive oil. _

Her mouth was watering now.

_Well… since I'm here, might as well pick up some breakfast for Chandler_. The fat girl inside her always won, she realized cheerfully, as she stepped into the bakery.

A couple of miles away, Nils Jansen shifted his bus into Drive.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! If you have any questions, comments, etc, about what's going on - feel free to drop me a review. They definitely encourage me! Thank you for reading, and I'll update soon! :)


	2. The Church and The Empty House

(A/N) Hi all! Thank yous to Laurie M, ClancytheGiraffe, and friendsfan101 for the kind, encouraging reviews. They were very much appreciated (esp. since you were the only three! haha) I can see how the first chapter could've been off-putting or confusing - or both! So you guys helped up my confidence, haha. You guys rock! :) Hopefully it will only get clearer from here - advice: keep an eye out for the dates!

Explanations/disclaimers: Last chapter - "April 2004" was based off of the goodbye scene from TOW Rachel's Goodbye Party, "December 1997" was created off one of Chandler's comments from TOW The Girl From Poughkeepsie. This chapter - "December 2001" is an elaboration of the opening scene from TOW Ross's Step Forward.

Onwards to the chapter! :)

* * *

January 2005

Rachel stood behind the podium, nervously adjusting the microphone to her height after Ross had just given his speech. She tugged at the hem of her little black dress for the millionth time.

She cleared her throat. The sound echoed off the walls of the high-ceilinged church.

"None of the amazing things," Rachel began shakily, voice thick with unshed tears, "that have happened to me in the last ten years would've happened if it wasn't for Monica Geller." A hot lump formed in Rachel's throat as she recalled the last time she had spoken these words. Repeating them in the exact order they had last been uttered seemed, to Rachel, irreverent but right all at once.

"No one has been more like a sister to me. I don't know what I'm going to do without her. I can't imagine not seeing her everyday." A stubborn tear fought its way out of Rachel's ducts and rolled down her cheek. "She's the best friend I've ever had."

Quiet sniffles rippled through the audience.

"But I'm so lucky," Rachel continued, her voice shifting up an octave in pitch. "I'm so, so _incredibly_ lucky. Not only because I had the honor of having Monica for so much of my life, but also because the last thing I got to say to her in person was what I just said to you behind this podium. How many people can say that the last thing they would ever tell their best friend was a heartfelt goodbye and how much she meant to them?"

If there had been a dry eye in the house up until that point, it cried then.

* * *

November 2007

"You don't look good, Bing," Chandler's perceptive boss said, stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray. "What gives?"

Chandler eyed the cigarette enviously, fighting the urge to light up one of his own. Instead, he sighed, "Sorry, Steve. It's just – it's this time of year. You know."

Immediately, Steve's face fell. "Oh, God. That's right. Monica."

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry, Bing."

"Me too."

Steve drummed a finger on his table. "Well, I know just what you need." He pulled up an email on his new iMac and perused it. "I know how you feel. You want to get away, don't you? Just want to drop everything, run as far as you can, be unknown for a little while?"

Chandler balked. "Uh, yeah. Exactly that."

Steve pointed to his temple knowingly, as if saying, '_Yup, it's this noggin that made me boss'_. "I got your back. How do you feel about Paris, France? Pitching an advertising set to a big firm there? I'm thinking slogans, commercials, print ad motifs."

"That sounds…" _Amazing? Fantastic? Perfect? _"… great, Steve."

"Good man." Steve clicked around and began printing documents. "I've emailed you the information and some background on the firm. We'll put you up in the Hotel Napoleon for three days next week, but uh – you can stay a bit longer if you'd like. Unpaid leave, of course."

"Of course."

"Are you going to be okay alone in France, Bing?"

Chandler stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled. "Actually, yeah. I have a friend there."

* * *

November 2004

Ross Geller glanced at his Rolex for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "Uh, sir?" He rapped on the taxi driver's shoulder. "Sir? Sir?"

The Indian man turned around with a glare. "What?"

"I don't mean to be a_ nuisance_" – here, the taxi driver rolled his eyes – "but I have to be lecturing a class at 10:00… and I have to be there about, well, 10 minutes ago. Do you think you could drive a - teeny bit faster?" He laughed awkwardly, all wheezes and chuckles.

"No," the man replied bluntly, gesturing to the bumper-to-bumper traffic going out of Washington Square. "You see all these cars? How can I get through? What do you think I drive, the Batmobile?"

Ross pulled a face and scoffed. "Geez, no need to be _snippy_ about it." He sat back into his seat and consulted his watch yet again. The traffic really was horrible today. _Must be some kind of car accident down south. Probably another motorcycle crash. Those guys always acted like they owned the streets. _He wondered how many of his students would ditch class that day.

* * *

December 2001

"So around the fourth month of your pregnancy, your hormones start going crazy." Phoebe nodded sagely and took a sip of her coffee.

Rachel stared at her friend in awe. "Really? So this happened to you too?"

"Mmhm."

"Oh God, that explains _so_ much." Rachel sat back in her seat. "You know, the other day, I went from store to store sitting on different Santa's laps."

They laughed. Phoebe launched into her own hormonal anecdotes ("And with triplets? Thrice as randy").

"Wait!" Rachel held up a hand to stop Phoebe mid-sentence. "That cute sporty guy in the back. Just my hormones?"

Phoebe turned around and made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. "Yeah. Okay. Well, I don't know what to tell you, Rach, but he's wearing a fanny pack."

"Oh." She grimaced. Even as hormonal as she was, the fashionista inside Rachel refused to let herself go _that _far. "Deal breaker."

"For sure."

"Ooh!" Rachel sat up straight again, her eye caught by the tall man in a fitted suit and loosened tie at the counter. "Okay wow, check out _that _one. Sexy. Am I right?"

Phoebe sighed and turned around again. She perused the man's back for a while. When she turned back around, she replied seriously, "Yeah, he's all right. Actually, I think I might know him."

"Really?" Rachel all but clapped in excitement. "Oh, Pheebs, you gotta introduce me!"

"Mm." Phoebe sipped some more coffee. "But, see, the thing is – I think you might know him too."

"What –"

Then the man turned around. And walked _towards_ them. Then, with no hesitation, sat down next to them.

"So I think I have SARS."

"Oh, hey Chandler. Rachel was just checking out your ass."

Chandler paused briefly to register these words. "Huh. Apparently I've had the completely _wrong_ idea of what SARS is, then."

Rachel gave what she thought was a seductive laugh, but to Chandler, it only sounded unnerving.

"Hi, handsome," she greeted, scooting closer to him on the couch. "Been working out lately?"

Chandler couldn't even remember the last time he went to the gym. "Hi, Pinocchio," he deadpanned back. "Been lying lately?" He tapped Rachel's nose lightly, but was startled when she, in one lightning quick motion, bit down on the tip of his index finger.

"Ow! Rach, what was that for?"

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?"

Eyes bulging in disbelief, Chandler whirled around to face Phoebe. He made a sweeping gesture with his arms as if to say - _Please explain this!_

Phoebe giggled. "Meet… Hormonal Rachel! Brought to you by four months of pregnancy." She shrugged. "But on behalf of Sane Rachel, I apologize for this behavior."

"Oh, right." It made sense to Chandler now; he had remembered when he'd caught a similarly pregnant Phoebe stealing one of his mom's erotic novels. "Hm. I don't know." He turned back to his coquettish blond friend. "I kind of like Horny Rachel. Watch this."

Chandler smirked and brushed his hand up Rachel's tantalizing thigh – a move that, usually, would earn him a sound slap across the face. "Rach," he said huskily, maintaining a straight face. "You are so beautiful."

"God," she replied breathily and grinned. "I'm _so_ turned on right now."

Chandler exhaled. He couldn't deny that he was in an extremely tempting position, but he restrained himself and removed his hand. _Damn my good moral character! _

"Oh, big deal," Phoebe snorted. "Watch this. Hey, Rach."

"Yeah?"

"_V__ous sentez comme des poissons_."

"Oh, stop it! I'm going to jump on you," Rachel giggled, much to both Chandler and Phoebe's amusement.

* * *

December 2007

Rachel came to in what seemed to be a bed made from clouds. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she could feel a beam of sunlight pierce the outside of her eyelids.

"Ugh." She groaned softly and rolled onto her side in an attempt to dodge the light. It wasn't until she felt her bare skin brush against the silk of the luxurious blanket that Rachel realized that she wasn't fully clothed. _Hm, that's weird. _She rarely slept without a shirt on (pants were a different story). _Where am I, anyway? _

She rubbed her eyes and, sitting up slightly, silently took in her surroundings. Duck-egg blue walls. Velvet plush chair. Gilt framed mirror reflecting the view outside the window – a glorious Parisian morning, the Arc du Triomphe in clear view.

The previous night's events rushed back all at once.

Rachel smiled.

The man beside her, now awake, found her hand underneath the covers and squeezed it. Rachel was surprised at how this simple, innocuous act could convey so much love and fill her heart with such warmth.

He offered her a sleepy grin and leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"Good morning."

* * *

November 2004

_Good mourning._

Chandler replayed his therapist's words in his head, reflecting on how much that phrase _had_ to be an oxymoron. _How could what I'm feeling ever be considered 'good'?_ But his therapist had assured him that, although, it may not seem like it was right now – how he was reacting was preferable. Some people dealt with grief the wrong way – denial, violence, shutting out the world.

Mourning.

That's what he was doing. At present, it seemed endless, like he would never ever be healed. Like all that lay ahead was a dark tunnel of despair, so deep that it would never spill out into the sunshine again.

Chandler was suddenly doused with a sense of cold dread. What if his therapist was wrong? What if he never coped or moved on with his life?

_What if this kind of mourning wasn't the good kind?_

And for the first time since Rachel's goodbye party in that green guest room, Chandler cried.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! Sorry it's a little dark, but I've been trying to pepper in some happy times too. :) As always, everyone is welcome to leave a comment/question/review/anything! Thank you for reading, and I'll update soon!


	3. Telecom and The Common Room

(A/N) Hi all! Thank you's go out to say what now, randler x, Laurie M, BluEyes (who also writes amazing Randler flashback/forwards, btw - check them out! :D) and friendsfan101! You guys are amazing; I appreciate your support and kind words so much. :)

Disclaimers/notes about this chapter: November 2004 (an important month, hopefully you've realized hehe) - I'm writing assuming the spin-off Joey never happened. (I've never watched it, but if what I hear is correct, no one will mind LOL). And November 1987 is based on the flashback scene in TOW The Stripper Cries.

Alrighty, onwards! Things are starting to overlap now, so hopefully this whole fic is getting clearer! :]

* * *

December 2007

Halfway through his presentation, Chandler realized that he had no idea whether he was doing a good job or not. That was the problem with the French – they always seemed stony and emotionless, or had a bad case of "resting bitch face."

Telecom-France CEO Stephen Cotilliard was no exception. At the moment, he and his group of advisors were staring intently as Chandler Bing deliver a nervous, palm-sweating pitch for their latest television campaign.

"So, then we pan out to the woman dropping the tennis balls," Chandler was concluding. "Zoom on the guard's face, cut to phone, cue the crowd cheering. Then fade to black." He exhaled sharply. "What do you guys think?"

Cotilliard only stared. He folded his hands on the desk. "Tennis?"

At this one brusque word, the advisors all began scribbling furiously on notepads.

Chandler swallowed hesitantly. "Um, yeah. Tennis. But, you know, if –"

"I don't know if tennis gives the right image for Telecom, no?"

Chandler didn't answer. He had been a nationally ranked tennis player as a teenager.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Bing, we will be -"

_Shit. _

"-in touch." The advisors were already standing up.

"N-no, wait!"

They all stopped and stared at Chandler.

He froze. _Say something! _he mentally hissed. _Anything! _"Uh, s-soccer."

If it were possible, Cotilliard's face became even stonier. "Soccer?" He spat the word as if it were poisonous.

_Whoops. _"I mean, football!" Chandler rectified quickly. "Football. What if – what if we changed the premise to it being a football game?" His mind clicked into gear now, and ideas were beginning to trickle in. "And the whole idea can be based on how _football_ connects the world – it being the most popular sport in the world, of course – just like how your _phone company_ connects the world as well?"

The group exchanged glances. Chandler felt his heart thump.

Cotilliard shrugged on his blazer. "I like it," he replied simply, before exiting the room – his advisors tailing after him like obedient whippets.

x

Back outside the Telecom-France office building, Chandler did a small happy Chandler-dance (which led more than a few French passersby to wonder if he was in need of medical assistance).

_He_ had done a good job! _He_ had potentially landed a huge deal for his company! _He _had succeeded at his goal. _He _was free to fully enjoy Paris now!

Excitedly, Chandler whipped out his cell to share the good news with Rachel. And maybe he would even have time to climb to the top of the Arch tonight – she had been begging him to try it all week.

As Rachel congratulated him on a job well done, her cheers sounding genuinely excited – Chandler found his thoughts wandering back towards his messy hotel room, with its duck-egg blue walls and velvet plush chairs.

Inexplicably, the thought occurred to him that he should probably tidy up the place. _Just… in case. _It was a quick thought, flitting through his mind innocently. He tried not to dwell on it.

* * *

December 2009/January 2010

For its 120th birthday, the Eiffel Tower rang in the New Year with a spectacular light and music show. The city planned a 12-minute shower of light, using state-of-the-art LED's, and fireworks shooting up the base that seemed tinny in comparison to the grand structure.

At 11:59 pm, Rachel Green and Chandler Bing were sandwiched within the million of spectators milling about at the bottom of the Tower. The streets were packed with citizens and tourists alike – along with street vendors selling their balloons, glow sticks or kazoos. Every so often, someone would let out a rowdy cheer, or let loose a harrumphing blow of a noisemaker. The boisterous crowd was eagerly awaiting the 10-second countdown to midnight.

"God, Paris is absolutely beautiful this time of year," Chandler grinned, turning to Rachel and blowing hot air to warm three hands – both of his and the one of hers that he'd been holding. "Ah, _la belle Paris_."

Rachel laughed and hugged herself even tighter to Chandler. "I'm so lucky," she murmured contentedly into his thick overcoat. She had picked that out for him last winter and was glad to see him wearing it for once. Gone was that ratty North Face jacket from SoHo.

_What a difference three years makes, _she mused.

At 12:00 am, the crowd around them erupted in cheers.

* * *

November 2004

It was noon, and Joey Tribbiani was still asleep.

Well, _had been _asleep – at least until the ringing of his phone had jolted him awake. "Mm, hello?" he muttered groggily into the mouthpiece.

Three seconds later, he was wide awake. He leapt to his feet.

"Wha - ? Pheebs, Pheebs, slow down, I can't understand you!" he stammered, voice starting to shake in fear. Phoebe's frantic cries on the other side of the line sounded so scared and hopeless that Joey almost felt like crying. "What happened?"

* * *

November 2004

Professor Ross Geller hung up the phone, all the blood drained from his face but otherwise devoid of emotion.

His voice was completely flat as he turned to his shocked lecture hall.

"My sister just died. Please excuse me."

He collected his things and left the room.

* * *

November 2004

18-year old model Anya Kakaroff laughed as Rachel, the kind blond American from Louis Vuitton offered yet another witty comment.

It was Anya's first Fashion Week, and she couldn't help but feel jittery and nervous. _What was the phrase that Rachel used? Butterflies in the stomach? _Anya usually found the employees dull or even unfriendly, but she had liked Rachel. Rachel had told her funny stories about her friends in New York while she got her hair done. Rachel had squeezed her hand to ease her nerves as the models began lining up.

A cell phone suddenly rang, an unfamiliar French tune.

"Ooh!" Rachel jumped and fished a silver Motorola out of her pocket. She checked the Caller ID. "Out of area. Sorry, that's probably my boss. Oh, I don't want to leave you though – are you sure you'll be okay?"

Anya smiled toothily. "Oh, I'm okay, Rachel! Thank you very much for everything."

"All right. I know you'll do great." Rachel smiled back and gave Anya's shoulder a final squeeze of support before shuffling quickly to the back of the room and flipping open the phone.

_She's so sweet, _Anya thought happily. _If only all of the people I worked with could be that nice! _

Thumping bass of heavy house music started up. The show had begun.

_Oh my God, oh my God, we're starting… So nervous, so nervous… _"Oh my God!"

Anya's nerves suddenly turned to genuine fear as she saw her new friend Rachel collapse against the back wall in choking, shuddering sobs. The deafening music immediately drowned out her cries.

* * *

January 2005

"I can't," Chandler said, folding his hands. "I've decided to move back."

The group he was addressing stared back at him, slack-jawed. They (this included Ross, Phoebe, Joey) had decided that Chandler desperately needed some cheering up, and that they would all surprise him at his new suburban home that he and Monica had just moved into that summer.

Little did they know, he would be the one doing the surprising.

"What?" Joey cried. "Move back? But you just moved in!"

This was true, as evidenced by several half-bare rooms in the house and a collection of still unpacked cardboard boxes in the corner of the den.

"Joe, I thought you'd be thrilled," Chandler joked half-heartedly.

Joey looked taken aback. "No, I never would've -"

"I know."

There was silence.

Chandler continued, "I can't live here, you guys understand, right? This was supposed to be _our _house… that we bought together and would live in together. Without Monica here, it just – wouldn't be right."

No one said anything, but Ross gave Chandler's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Chandler sighed, looking ten years older than he actually was. "God, and I feel bad for Sue. I mean, we barely bought the house and now I've asked her to sell it again? I just wish I could find someone to take it off my hands." He paused and with another feeble attempt, joked, "Well, I guess One-Legged Homeless Guy on the Subway is going to have the best day of his life when I see him tomorrow."

"Ooh, wait!" Phoebe cried out, sitting up so suddenly that she got a head rush and had to blink a few times. When her vision cleared, she continued, "I have an idea! Chandler, if you'd be okay with it – maybe Mike and I could buy the house! We were planning on house-hunting soon anyway. And you can call Sue and tell her that if she sells it, she'll have a buyer ASAP!"

"Really?" Chandler sat up straighter. "Wow, I mean, that'd be great if you guys could live here! Are you absolutely sure, Pheebs?"

"Uh huh! I mean, sucks to your one leg, Homeless Guy, but I'd love this house. God, there's a white picket fence and everything."

"Wow. Great, great," Chandler said excitedly, reaching for his phone and punching in the familiar number. "I'll let you Sue know right now."

She picked up on the second ring.

"Hello, Sue Lynch, realtor. How may I help you?"

"Hi Sue, this is Chandler Bing. I have some good news for you."

* * *

November 1987

Chandler saw them before they saw him.

Granted, they weren't exactly _hard _to miss – as Monica was about twice the size of everyone else and as Rachel was so stunning (even in blue leopard print) that even the sophomores at the party had turned to check her out.

_Wow, is that… Rachel? Ross's Rachel? _was Chandler's first thought. His second was, _Wow, okay. Okay, Ross. I get it now._

As Rachel and Monica walked hesitantly toward the center of the room, Chandler retreated behind a vending machine. He didn't really want to end up hanging out with them. For one, they were high school seniors (and as a college freshman now, he was _way _above that). And for another, Ross would inevitably be trying to get with Rachel all night – which would mean that he'd inevitably beg Chandler to play wingman and take care of Monica.

_Um, no thanks. _

Chandler was conflicted. Part of him wanted to swoop over to Rachel and turn on the charm – he knew that being known as even being acquainted with such a girl would do wonders for his reputation. The other part begged him to remain hidden.

_Damn it, Monica, _he thought bitterly, eyes still following them around the room. _You're my best friend's nice little sister and everything… but could you just- _go _away for one night? _

An hour later, Chandler was kissing Rachel Green for the first of what would eventually be many, many times. In the years to come, he'd tell her that each was as wonderful as this first one.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! As always, feel free to drop a comment/question/anything in a review! Thank you for reading, and I'll update soon :)


	4. The Arch and The Elevators

(A/N) Hi all! Sorry for the late update - physics midterm occupied my week (and in vain - I bombed yet again). UGH. aaanyway, thank you's go out to BluEyes, jenanistonfan, friendsfan101, and Laurie M for the kind and encouraging words! I truly appreciate the support. Snaps for you guys! Also, friendsfan101 brought up a great question - if Monica and Chandler had the twins or not in my fic. and my answer was - "omg! totally forgot about them!" haha. so yeah, I'm writing assuming that Monica got hit by the bus before all that happened. heh. beauty of writing fanfic.

Notes/Disclaimers: in this chapter - January 2001 is based on TOW All The Cheescake.

On with the chapter! :)

* * *

December 2007

It was a beautiful night. It was getting deeper into December, which meant that more and more people were flooding into Paris for winter vacation, and more and more holiday lights seemed to appear overnight to light up the bustling Champs Elysees.

Since his successful Telecom meeting that morning, Chandler and Rachel had been happily gallivanting across the city – from walking along the Seine to lunching under the shade of Notre Dame to taking funny pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower (Chandler hadn't been all that impressed with the legendary structure, however – "_Wait, is there nothing else to do here? We just _look _at it? I could've done this on my laptop_"). And Rachel had been more than supportive – telling her boss that she was taking the rest of her afternoon off and gamely playing the role of "excited tourist" with Chandler, even though she'd done all this when she first moved to the city three years ago.

Now, the two friends were underground – walking along the dark tunnel underpass that led to the entrance of the Arch. Chandler could hear the traffic on the chaotic roundabout right above his head. "Wow," he couldn't help but murmur when they emerged at the foot of the Arch. From where he was standing, the shimmering streets of Paris stretched out in all directions; the Arch, the heart and center of it all.

"I know, right?" Rachel grinned, clapping gleefully. "Now come on, let's climb to the top! Let's go, let's go!"

She tugged on Chandler's jacket, but he stayed resolutely still. "Uh," he replied, gauging the height of towering structure. "Actually, I'd like to stay on the ground where it's nice and flat and there is no possibility of me dying, if you don't mind."

"Ugh, Chandler! Come on, you can take the elevator halfway. Please? It's beautiful up there."

"You've been up there?"

Rachel gave him an incredulous look. "Chandler, I've lived here for years. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty?"

"Point taken."

"Oh, come on!" Rachel whined again, tugging on the edge of Chandler's sleeve. "Geoffrey had a great time when he went."

"Geoffrey?" Chandler snapped, a bit too quickly. He cleared his throat and folded his arms. "What – uh, who's – who's Geoffrey?"

"My ex-boyfriend."

"His name's _Geoffrey?_ Seriously? What is he, a Toys R' Us mascot?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "An architect, actually. And you know, _he_ had no trouble climbing all 284 steps to the top."

"Well, I'm sure it was easier for him. Aren't giraffes, like, fifteen feet tall?"

"Oh, stop it. Now, I'm going, and I don't care if you come or not."

"Ugh." Chandler made a show of groaning dramatically. "_Fine_."

Rachel laughed as Chandler finally allowed himself to be dragged to the ticket booth by the entrance.

"Two adults, please," she grinned.

x

The elevator that was transporting Rachel and Chandler to the mid-level of the Arch was rickety and made constant whirring noises, which actually made the current lull in conversation comforting.

"Hey. Chandler."

Chandler turned in surprise at the welcome interruption of human sound.

"Yeah?"

Rachel was grinning, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "When we reach mid-level, want to race to the top?"

"Um, you're crazy."

"You know, when Geoffrey and I raced, he won."

"Um, you're on."

Rachel smirked and elbowed Chandler. He smirked and elbowed back. They waited impatiently for the elevator ding.

_218. 219._

_220._

When the metal doors finally opened, Rachel and Chandler shot out of the elevator like racehorses being released from their gates, laughing and shoving each other out of the way in attempts to gain the advantage.

And then they were off – running and laughing and running and laughing, clambering up the metal spiral staircase like giddy teenagers, drunk on carefree happiness and blissfully oblivious of the world around them. They reached the top ten minutes later; sweaty, breathless, and doubled over in laughter. Chandler, who'd arrived first (by a second) took a deep breath of the cold December air and looked around. When he finally saw the view that awaited him, he was breathless in a completely different manner.

"Wow," he exhaled sharply, awed by the busy twinkling city below them. "It's beautiful."

He heard Rachel's soft footsteps approach him from behind. "Told you," she smiled and murmured, still out of breath. She leaned her head on Chandler's sweaty chest, and he wrapped an arm tightly around her. They stood there in the cold night for several minutes, quietly admiring the City of Lights from 160 feet in the air. "Told you."

* * *

January 2001

And then they were running and laughing and running and laughing, their breathless giggles getting lost in the noisy honks and chatter of New York rush hour. They were giddy and drunk on carefree happiness.

"Oh my God, this is exciting," Rachel panted, stopping to catch her breath when she finally caught up to Chandler. "We really should - try not paying for lunch more often."

Chandler laughed and peered around the corner. To his delight, he found no angry Italian restaurant managers chasing after them. "Okay, this whole cheesecake deal," he said, "is making us criminals. First, stealing food from an old lady, and now, eating and running before the waiter could come back with the check?" He gave Rachel a jokingly stern look. "Are you proud of this, Bonnie?"

"Not any more proud than you are, Clyde."

"So same time tomorrow?"

"It's a date."

* * *

March 1985

Monica Geller shoved the warm slice of garlic bread into her mouth just as her father walked in the door.

He noticed. "Oh, Harmonica," he chided good-naturedly. "Leave some for your cousins, why don't you?"

"Ughhh," Monica garbled, mouth still full of bread. "Why? Cassie doesn't even eat starch."

"And that's why _she's_ getting prettier by the year." Mrs. Geller had just walked into the kitchen.

Mr. Geller shot her a warning glance.

"What?" Her voice was clipped in mild distaste. She picked up the tray of garlic bread. "I'm just being honest. Monica, you'd do more to try to be like Cassie, won't you? Bread – all those empty calories. I swear it'll be the death of you."

* * *

May 2009

Rachel swung open the door of her Paris apartment complex, still laughing at Chandler's comment about the ridiculous movie they had just seen (that new vampire film with the actress with the ratty hair and the actor with glittery skin?). In fact, Chandler had spent so much of the movie making snide jokes in her ear that Rachel couldn't even really remember the plot.

"Monsieur Bing. Mademoiselle Green." Landlord Jean-Louis waved to them from behind his marble counter, but the two friends were so absorbed in their own little world that they had missed his greeting altogether.

Jean-Louis smiled and watched as the two disappeared into the elevator, still laughing and chattering away. _Ah, young love,_ he thought cheerfully to himself. _So glad to see that this kind of happiness still exists. God knows our world could do with some more love. _

x

The doors of the small Le Marais Apartments elevator had barely closed before Rachel and Chandler gave in. Their giggling lips crashed together, obviously unable to stand being apart for another second. Their fumbling fingers met silk, skin, hair. They had eight floors to go.

"God," Rachel murmured, melting a bit as Chandler found her favorite spot on her neck. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this the entire night."

Chandler chuckled against her skin. "All the unresolved sexual tension between vampire and human that did it for you?"

"Maybe. Bite me."

The doors dinged open. Both Rachel and Chandler were, as always, grateful that Le Marais had such small elevators.

* * *

December 2007

Rachel was right, Chandler thought. He _had_ really enjoyed the top of the Arch. As they neared ground level in the tiny elevator, he began feeling slightly wistful. The day had been so unbelievable and the city was still so very much alive with _joie de vivre_ – he didn't really want to be alone just yet.

"Hey, Rach?" he started, as the _30_ lit up on the panel. "I just want to say thank you. For today. I had a lot of fun."

"Aw, honey." _29. _"Of course." Her pink lips curled into a smile. She rubbed his shoulder happily. "I had a lot of fun, too."

"I don't want this night to end." _28, 27, 26._

"Chandler, we've been almost everywhere in the entire city."

"Nuh uh. There's that – you know, that museum… erm, the name escapes me at the moment..."

"I'm taking you to the Louvre on Saturday."

Chandler exhaled. "Just – don't leave yet. Please? You can stay at the Napoleon with me."

_18, 17, 16._

"Please? We can stay up late and crack the mini-bar and watch Miss Congeniality 2 on Pay-Per-View. You know I love the Treasure Island scene."

Rachel sighed heavily, her wary exhalation puffing into the air and forming the shape of the unspoken implications she knew he'd get. "Oh, Chandler." _11, 10, 9. _"Are you sure this is a good idea?..." She let her voice drift off.

"It'll be okay. I promise."

Something about the way he said this resonated with Rachel. Something so honest, so heartfelt. "Okay," she relented. "One condition."

"Sure."

"Will you let me paint your toenails? I have like 50 new colors I want to try out."

_8, 7. _

"Well, I guess it'll either be you or Su-Ling eventually, so sure. Why not?"

Rachel grinned.

The doors dinged open, and they spilled out into the bustling nightlife once again.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! It was kind of Randler-heavy, but you'll see some other characters next chapter too. Thanks so much for reading, and I'll update soon! :)


	5. New York and The Napoleon

(A/N) Hello all! HOLYCRAP can I just apologize for how unearthly long it took me to write this? I know late updates absolutely suck (especially for this fic, which relies on catching the smallest of overlaps/parallels/repeated quotes from previous chapters). ugh, as if it wasn't difficult enough to follow along, I'm not exactly helping by updating so late!  
Sooo I'm sorry. I have no idea why, but I'm going to have to blame it mainly on writer's block. I actually physically hurt when I have it, haha. And also, the next few scenes were insanely difficult to write - in my notebook, I actually have one scene written down as "hotel room, srs discussion, going to be hella hard to write". Haha. on that note, this is not exactly one of my favorite chapters. So, a late update and a mediocre chapter? Apologieeeees! Feel free to re-read previous chapter... or not to review this one, actually haha.

Anyway, thank yous go out to BluEyes, friendsfan101, , say what now (yes, phys-sucks! haha), Exintaris, and Laurie M. Your kind encouragement keeps me writing :) You guys rock.

Notes/disclaimers: October 1995 is based on TOW Heckles Dies.

* * *

January 2008

"So, seriously – when are you coming home, man?"

Chandler's heart sank a little as he gripped his cell phone tighter to his ear. Hearing Joey's tinny voice, tinged with a mixture of sadness and hopefulness, and knowing that he was 3000 miles away, made Chandler a little homesick. He missed his best friend and the feeling was mutual.

"Soon, Joe," he replied, feeling guilty. "Soon. I promise."

"I cleaned up so you could it'd be easier for you when you move back in."

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."

There was a faint yelling in the background.

"Who is that?" Chandler asked, struggling to identify the voice.

"Hold on." There was an unintelligible exchange on the New York end of the phone, and then, "Uh, Pheebs wants to talk to you."

_Uh oh. _

"Hello?" Chandler began warily.

"Chandler Bing, you get your ass back home right now!" Phoebe's voice was so loud that Chandler practically leapt from the earpiece. "Sue calls everyday asking about – 'escrow' this and – 'home equity loan' that –" here, her voice went in and out of focus as she was undoubtedly waving her arms around – "and everything's just so… floopy! So please, please come home and _help _us."

Her voice softened. "Look, I understand why you want to stay, Chandler, I really do. But you can't run away and stay hidden forever. Your life isn't in Paris. It's in New York. You have to come back to reality sometime."

* * *

October 1995

"- and I'll get more snakes, call them my babies! Kids won't walk past my place, they will run. 'Run away from Crazy Snake Man!' they'll shout!" Chandler concluded his self-deprecating outburst with a spastic wave of his arm and plopped dejectedly into the squashy armchair.

Monica and Rachel could only stare, each wearing expressions of considerable shock; they'd never seen Chandler so distraught. Usually, he was a master of control – effortlessly able to hide discomfort with a careful joke, in that perfected detachment that came with years of practice. But now, his walls were down, the cracks in his façade open. And if something was strong enough to have overrun the stone walls that were Chandler Bing's emotions, it must've been something that was seriously worrying him.

The two girls were at his side immediately.

Monica kneeled at his feet, taking a hand in hers. "Chandler, you are not going to end up alone," she said, with genuine insistence. "You're different from other guys."

Rachel sat down on his other side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah," she agreed. "You know? You're a step further along than all those other poor saps who are still trying to figure out why all their relationships are failures. But you've realized what you want already."

"Yeah, don't you see? You've made it."

"You're there."

Chandler inhaled deeply, trying to steady the feeling of panic that had pervaded him that entire afternoon (peaking at the moment of his Snake-Man epiphany a couple of hours ago). He glanced at Monica on his right. Then at Rachel on his left. Both girls looked so genuinely concerned for him, so loving, so intent on making him feel better. He felt his heartbeat and breathing slowly return to normal.

_I'm pretty lucky to have such great friends, _Chandler realized. _Because even if I do end up unmarried, I won't be alone. If no one else will, at least I know that these friends will always be there for me. _

He felt Monica's thumb tracing small, comforting circles on his wrist.

Rachel's fingers slowly massaging between his shoulder blades.

Monica's hand on his knee.

Rachel's palms occasionally sliding down his sternum and back towards his neck.

_Monica. _

_Rachel. _

_Monica Rachel MonicaRachelMonicaRachel._

Yep, Chandler was feeling better now.

He smiled in silent appreciation at his two best girl friends, feeling tremendously lucky. _It __is_ _possible for someone to have __two__ best friends in his life… isn't it? _

* * *

February 2010

Chandler fiddled nervously with his napkin yet again, looking around the Ritz bar every few seconds to make sure that their guest had not arrived yet.

"Honey, you need to calm down," Rachel chided, rubbing his thigh soothingly. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not! Why, wh – why would you think I was nervous? I'm not nervous."

"Uh, your napkin begs to differ." She gestured at the growing pile of thinly shredded paper on the table in front of Chandler.

Chandler stared at the pile as if seeing it for the first time. "Wow, I didn't even realize I was doing that."

Rachel exhaled and leaned in closer, her perfume wafting in Chandler's direction. He got a wonderfully fleeting glance down her emerald green cocktail dress. _Whatever happens, at least she looks fantastic._

"Don't be nervous," she repeated in that voice that had comforted Chandler through hundreds of bad days since he'd met her twenty years ago. "It'll be okay."

Chandler sighed, fingers reflexively ripping up some more of his napkin. "I just always hate this part," he muttered. "He's going to judge us. All of them; they always do. I see it in their stupid, judgmental, judge-y eyes."

* * *

April 2008

The man standing in front of Joey Tribbiani was exactly what he'd been looking for – average height, average build, with an average kind face and average brown hair.

"And would you say you're a _funny_ guy?" Joey asked seriously, pencil hovered above the questionnaire on his clipboard.

"Uh." The guy shrugged noncommittally. "You know. Not really."

"Do you find yourself… making jokes often?"

"Not often, no."

"Perfect." Joey was not in the business of replacing his best friend. He tossed the clipboard aside and extended a hand. "Welcome aboard, roomie!"

* * *

April 2008

Ross seethed, clutching his Motorola so tightly that he could feel the key pad imprinting into his skin. _How… dare he?_ There were so many levels of _wrong _that Chandler had just crossed, Ross didn't even know where to begin hating him.

First, there was Rachel. _Of course. _Of course _she'd _be "first" about this, too – after all, Ross had been putting her first for everything else his entire life. _A fact that Chandler has always been more than aware of. I thought he was my best friend. How could he do this to me? _

Then there was Monica.

_Chandler couldn't possibly be in "love" with Rachel, _Ross reasoned. After all, hadn't he just proclaimed his undying love for Monica a couple of years ago? _Did Monica mean so little to him that he could move on so quickly? And not just move on to – but out and out "fall in love" with – Rachel? Why now? _

The timing seemed more than a little suspicious. Ross made two deductions, both equally frightening and hurtful – either that Chandler had secretly loved Rachel his whole life, or that Chandler had known that (because of Ross) he could never have her; thus compensating with marrying the woman he loved second best.

_Monica._

The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded Ross that these deductions were about as ridiculous as intelligent design, and not to mention, deduced with a mind clouded with anger and disbelief. The scientist in him begged him to keep a clear head and think about this logically. Empathize with Chandler. Try to see things from his point of view. _Maybe one thing led to another, and he really _has_ fallen in love with Rachel._

But he couldn't see it that way. He hated Chandler too much at the moment to feel anything but spite.

His usually composed face contorted into a frustrated growl, Ross chucked his phone against the opposite wall, hard. It landed in two pieces on the carpet.

On the other side of the wall, seven year old Emma Geller-Green stared down at her Mary Jane-d feet and ran back into her room.

* * *

December 2007

The first thing Rachel noticed about Chandler's Napoleon hotel room was the large gilt-framed mirror above his dresser. It was exquisite, and was strategically placed so that one could see the reflection of the Arch through the window from any angle on the bed.

She was sitting there now, talking with Chandler, the whole of the mini-bar opened and sprawled in front of them on the luxurious silk bedspread. Since Miss Congeniality 2 ended, Rachel and Chandler had talked nonstop – beginning with a discussion of the movie's final Vegas scene – which naturally led to their own reminiscences of the Vegas trip the whole gang had taken back in '99 – which eventually became reminiscences of their favorite memories from their past in New York (Rachel picked their trip to the beach house, Chandler picked their final Thanksgiving).

But that New York past included a very important chapter.

Monica.

It was hard for both of them to broach that topic again, to risk reopening that fresh wound – but at that moment, nothing seemed more fitting. And for hours, Monica's two best friends shared their fondest memories of her, her funniest moments, her secrets. They talked and ate and laughed and (Rachel, at least) cried – neither of them had had anyone to share these emotions with over the last three years.

"Hey, Rach?" Chandler asked, during a pause caused by Rachel taking another sip of white wine.

"Yeah?"

"How did you manage to get on with your life after… you know?"

"Get on with my life?" Rachel licked the wine off her lips as she considered the question. She wasn't aware of it, but even that miniscule movement seemed vaguely sensual. "Hm. Well, at first, it ate me up... I couldn't go to work or eat or do anything without feeling guilty that I'd moved to Paris. That I couldn't have spent the last months of my best friend's life by her side. I felt like no one understood that pain."

Chandler nodded. He could relate.

"But," she continued, "then it became a matter of just getting through each day. Each time I did, I felt Monica pushing me along. Then one day, it just dawned on me that she'd be happiest knowing that I could be happy again. I know she'd be heartbroken if she knew that she was the reason I was crying. And I couldn't – can't – give her that burden."

Rachel's eyes welled briefly, and Chandler instinctively patted her hand.

"At least you were her friend," Chandler murmured. "And she'll understand that you'll have other friends after her. But I was her _husband._ How could she ever want me to move on? Rach, I don't know what to do."

Rachel stared, her own pain momentarily forgotten. She realized that this side of him was not often shared; these serious emotions of his usually reserved for conversations with Joey or Monica. And if something was strong enough to have overrun the stone walls that were Chandler Bing's emotions, it must've been something that was seriously worrying him.

Rachel was touched that he had opened up to her, privileged that she had reached that level of trust.

"Oh, honey," she exhaled, moving closer. "You know Mon. She'd want you to be happy, no matter what."

"I don't think I'll ever stop loving her. But at the same time, I want to feel like I can love someone else."

"If you fall in love again, it doesn't mean that you've forgotten Monica, or that you didn't love her. Do you think Mon would ever be the type of person to think that?"

"No." Chandler sighed. "Of course not. But I'd feel guilty if I ever loved someone as much as I loved her. Or even more." He involuntarily shuddered at the last thought.

There was silence as Rachel contemplated the right thing to say. Finally, she decided on, "Maybe… don't think of it as replacing your love for Monica. Think of it as taking all that love that you had for Monica and transferring it to someone who can have it in the here and now."

Chandler looked up at Rachel, who looked so genuinely concerned for him, so loving, so intent on making him feel better. He felt tremendously lucky.

With a slight smile, he placed a hand on Rachel's tantalizing thigh – a move that, usually, would earn him a sound slap across the face. "Rach," he said, leaning in genuinely. "You are so beautiful."

She breathed out slowly, imperceptibly. And smiled.

"Thank you."

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. Sorry again if you found it late and mediocre, haha. Let me make it up to you by letting me know if you want anything clarified. And if you did enjoy it, feel free to drop me a review/comment/anything! Thank you for reading and I'll try very hard to update soon!


	6. Long Island and The Eiffel Tower

(A/N) Hi all! Good news: this was quicker update, hooray! Bad news: I may be a bit late with the next update - it's getting to be finals week (physics on my 20th birthday - joy) and then after that, I'm taking a trip to Hawaii with friends (excited for the latter, at least)! I will try very very hard to keep writing throughout though! Thank you's go out to BluEyes, friendsfan101, dramaticwriting, and Laurie M. It really impresses me how perceptive some of you readers are (and makes me feel really good about myself, btw) :) So thank you for always reading and being so supportive. You guys are so great!

Notes/disclaimers: okay, last chapter, I caught a slight mistake: Phoebe calling about house problems in '08 when she supposedly bought it in '05. But I just decided to leave it and instead take it as "new" house problems (we all have some from time to time, right? ;]).  
This chapter: February 2000 is based on TOW Chandler Can't Cry.

Onwards! :)

* * *

May 1983

"Look at this one." Monica Geller lifted the magazine she was holding so that Rachel could see the photo. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Rachel Green, laying on the bed so that her permed blond hair fanned over the side, gave it a perfunctory glance. "Yeah, it's alright." She blew out a pink bubble with her gum and it snapped loudly in the silence.

Monica scoffed and turned around to face her. "Rach! Why are you always so negative when I show you stuff about weddings?" She shifted her large weight against the carpet, and her voice picked up in excitement. "I mean, don't you ever dream about your own? The dress, the cake, the husband, the invites?" Her eyes were practically shining.

"Nope."

Monica seemed a bit put out. "Well. I do," she muttered. "I've been dreaming about my wedding since I was five." She turned back to her bridal magazine.

Rachel sighed to herself. She shut her eyes. On principle, she didn't ever dare look at or think about anything related to weddings. As much as she'd have loved to gush over bridal magazines with her best friend, Rachel Green never allowed herself to wonder what flavor cake she'd like or what lavish dress she'd be wearing or what the face of her future groom would be like.

Because she knew, deep down, that her own marriage would probably be more practicality than fantasticality – more business than pleasure. And she knew that if she spent her entire childhood dreaming foolish idyllic dreams, she'd just end up that much more disappointed by the time her own wedding arrived.

Perhaps Monica was the type of person who still believed that the real world was all rainbows and happily-ever-afters – somewhere where every girl would get their dream wedding – but Rachel wasn't. _And neither are my parents. _

Rachel snapped her gum again and stared absentmindedly up at her poster of Tom Cruise.

She didn't know what kind of man she'd end up spending the rest of her life with, but she knew one thing – she probably wouldn't be in love with him.

* * *

April 2008

Steve looked up from his sandwich when he heard the unmistakable scruff of Italian leather against hardwood.

Ross Geller was walking towards him, looking like he was trying very hard at nonchalance.

"Steve?" he asked, upon reaching his table. "Chandler's boss?"

Steve nodded.

"Hi, I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Ross Geller. Monica's brother? Chandler's friend." That seemed more appropriate, somehow.

"Oh yes, of course." Steven wiped his mouth on his napkin. He continued politely, "What can I do for you, Ross?"

Now, a visible tenseness settled above Ross' brow line. "I'd just like to know," he began, chuckling humorlessly, "what kind of boss you think you are."

"What? – "

"No, no, wait." Ross held up a hand. "What kind of boss could send an employee overseas for a half-year business trip? You – you just as-_sume _that because he lost everything permanent in his life, that you can just – just replant him abroad for 6 months? That's – that's just _mean_!"

"Ross –"

"No, that's taking advantage of Chandler! And I – I won't stand for it!"

"Ross! Listen to me." Steve was adamant now. "I would never do that to Chandler. Especially not because I think he has less reason to be in New York or anything. Look, the assignment was supposed to be a weekend, but I told him he could hang around Paris until the holidays."

"A weekend - ? The holidays - ?" Ross stammered. "But he's not - "

"Ross." Steve shook his head. "Didn't he tell you? Chandler called me in February with his two week's notice. He's staying in Paris."

"Staying in Paris - ?" Ross was in such a state of shock that the only thing he could do now was repeat blindly after Steve. He gaped at the floor unblinkingly.

"Maybe," Steve started, in a calm, quiet voice, "you should give him a call." He sounded almost sympathetic. _Poor guy. Own best friend didn't even tell him he was moving. _

"Yeah." Ross gritted his teeth. "Yeah, I'll give him a call, alright."

x

Back inside his apartment, Ross punched in the familiar number with trembling fingers.

"Hello?" The voice on the other line was wary. Nervous.

"Chandler!" Ross was bellowing, but his voice couldn't help but catch with emotion. "Chandler, explain yourself."

"I love her, Ross."

* * *

February 2010

"Hi, sweetie," Rachel greeted Chandler as she shut the door behind her. She walked over for her usual 'welcome home' kiss, but none came.

"Hey. What's the matter?"

"Steve called."

Rachel shrugged off her blazer onto the couch and furrowed her brow. "Steve? Your old New York boss Steve?"

"Yeah. He's in the area on business and he wants to get drinks at the Ritz."

"You haven't seen him in three years."

Chandler shrugged. "Well, he doesn't know anyone in Paris, so I guess I was his only option for a Friday night."

Rachel considered, then smiled. "Oh. Well, this could be fun, right? The Ritz is always great. Ooh! And I could wear that new emerald cocktail dress that I got from work." Her mind was already wandering to what accessories and handbag she'd bring…

"Rach. Steve doesn't know. That we're together."

The image of her LV bag in Rachel's mind dissolved immediately. "So?"

"Your old boss seeing you with your wife's best friend after being married to one of his old friends… it's going to be awkward, isn't it?"

Rachel pursed her lips and flicked her bangs away from her face. "Well. If you think so, I won't go, then."

"No, no." Chandler sighed. "No. I want you there. I just – I just always wonder what people think when I tell them. I can only imagine what they assume about me. About us."

"Well." Rachel placed an arm around Chandler and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "You know what they say when you assume."

"No – what?"

Rachel stared back incredulously. Chandler's lips curled upwards in amusement.

"God." Rachel realized he was joking, and laughed. "Come on, silly, let's get ready."

* * *

February 2000

"I won't care if you don't cry at our wedding," Monica insisted, taking Chandler's hands in hers. "And, and if we have a baby one day and the doctor hands it to you in the delivery room, and you don't cry... so what?" She smiled a bit too eagerly.

Chandler didn't catch it. Instead, he smiled back obliviously, "Well, okay. So I won't worry about this any more then."

_Are you serious? _Monica exhaled sharply in exasperation. _Am I going to marry the Tin Man or something? _She gave it another try. "And, you know, if I die one day… and you're writing out my eulogy… and you open the desk drawer and you find a note from me that says… _'I will always be with you'_" – here, she made her voice as reverential and poignant as possible – "and you still can't shed one _tiny_ tear? Well. I just know you'll be crying a river inside."

Chandler was still smiling obliviously. "Aw, Mon, thank –"

"What's the matter with you?" Unable to hide her frustration any longer, Monica leapt to her feet. Why was Chandler so apathetic about their relationship? _Not even if I died? _"You can't shed a tear for your dead wife? I mean, come on! I left you a note from the beyond!"

Chandler was sputtering now, completely taken aback. "What? So you - you didn't mean anything you just said?"

"No!" Monica's face was scrunched up in a mixture of disdain and anger. "You robot!"

She stomped off into her room, leaving Chandler slack-jawed on the couch. It didn't occur to either of them that perhaps the reason why Chandler didn't cry for the first 30 years of his life was because 30 years of saved-up tears was precisely how much it took him to get through the winter of 2004.

* * *

December 2009/January 2010

For its 120th birthday, the Eiffel Tower rang in the New Year with a spectacular light and music show. The city planned a 12-minute shower of light, using state-of-the-art LED's, and fireworks shooting up the base that seemed tinny in comparison to the grand structure.

At 11:59 pm, Rachel Green and Chandler Bing were sandwiched within the million of spectators milling about at the bottom of the Tower. The streets were packed with citizens and tourists alike – along with street vendors selling their balloons, glow sticks or kazoos. Every so often, someone would let out a rowdy cheer, or let loose a harrumphing blow of a noisemaker. The boisterous crowd was eagerly awaiting the 10-second countdown to midnight.

"God, Paris is absolutely beautiful this time of year," Chandler grinned, turning to Rachel and blowing hot air to warm three hands – both of his and the one of hers that he'd been holding. "Ah, _la belle Paris_."

Rachel laughed and hugged herself even tighter to Chandler. "I'm so lucky," she murmured contentedly into his thick overcoat.

Chandler stiffened and pulled away. He stuck a hand in his coat to separate Rachel's body from his.

"What's wrong?" she frowned.

At this point, the 15 second countdown began. "15!" the crowd yelled simultaneously, shaking the ground with their excitement.

Then she saw it. Chandler had pulled something out of his inside pocket – a box. A small, elegant black box.

Rachel gave a small hiccupping gasp. "Oh my God." She felt heat rise in her throat – always a sign that tears were on the way.

"_14!"_

Chandler suppressed a smile and continued as if he hadn't seen her reaction. "So, uh, I've been thinking a lot recently. About soul mates."

"Uh huh…"

"And I was thinking – you know, people spend so much time looking for "The One" and talking about "The One"… that they forget the possibility that there could be more for them. I mean, it _is_ possible for someone to have _two_ soul mates in life… isn't it?"

"Mmhm!" A high-pitched, barely audible squeak. Rachel's hands were clasped to her chest, big wet eyes trained on Chandler.

He slowly opened the box. People around them began to notice what was going on. Excited whispers and small hoots broke out.

"_10..."_

"After Monica died, I never thought, in a million years, that I could ever open my heart and love anyone again. But you've done the impossible and somehow gave me happiness again. And you've made me happier than I ever thought I could be. In many ways, Rach – you saved my life."

"_7…"_

"And I've been so –_so – _lucky to fall in love with one of my best friends - twice in one lifetime." He paused to himself and added, "Wow. I must've been, like, Buddha in a past life to deserve this."

Rachel laughed, her voice trembling with unshed tears.

"_5…" _

"Rachel Green, I'm so lucky to have known you for so much of my life. For the last twenty years, I've had the chance to love you as a stranger, as an acquaintance, and as a friend."

"_3..2…"_

"Now will you let me love you as a husband?"

Rachel exhaled sharply, beaming shakily. "Yes," she breathed and clapped her hands together. "Yes, of course!"

At 12:00 am, the crowd around them erupted in cheers.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. Proposal was also filed under "difficult to write" in my notebook. Haha. Well, as always, everyone is free to let me know what they thought in a review/comment/question/anything! Thank you for reading, and I'll update ASAP!


	7. Le Marais and The Liquor Store

(A/N) Hi all! Okay, so I struggled with deciding whether to post this chapter or not. First of all, I snuck in writing time when I should've been studying for my final (as we speak -er, type - I should be engrossed in thermodynamics), so this means that I probably can't update for a while after _this _chapter. Second of all, I originally thought last chapter was a good leaving point for a while because it was such a big ending (proposal, yee :]). So I hate leaving you guys with this less than exciting chapter right before my final and vacation, but such is the result of procrastinating for physics, haha.  
Thank you's go out to BluEyes, Laurie M, friendsfan101, dramaticwriting, and sneaker89! Thank you for the kind words of encouragement; they are very appreciated! You guys rock, as per usual :)

Notes/disclaimers: September 1994 is based on The Pilot. Okay, onwards!

* * *

September 2004

"And I," Rachel smiled and turned to rummage through her purse, "…have something for you, too." Her hands closed on the metal box. "Happy anniversary."

Architect Geoffrey Dubois smiled when he saw what was inside. "_Mon dieu_," he murmured, taking out the unique, minimalist watch and inspecting it. The face was a blank rectangle, and the time was written out in tiny cursive in the right corner. "The Frank Gehry watch. My favorite architect; I can't believe you remembered." He spoke in a low, lilting French accent. "Rachel, you truly are the most wonderful woman."

Rachel grinned and scoffed modestly. "Oh. Pft. I wouldn't – I mean – yeah, okay." She picked up her wine glass and took a long swig to hide her blushing.

With one smooth motion seemingly only perfected by European men, Geoffrey swiped the glass from Rachel's hands and replaced it with his own. He fixed his deep brown eyes on hers – which made Rachel melt a little bit. "Happy 2 - month anniversary, _mon amour_."

"_Joyeux anniversaire,_" Rachel smiled back, leaning in for the kiss.

* * *

October 2002

Transportation engineer JP Williams suddenly realized that all eyes in the New York City traffic commission board meeting were on him.

"It's up to Mr. Williams," the plump chairman smirked, smug that the responsibility was removed from him. JP decided that, if he hadn't hated the chairman before – he did now.

Sighing in defeat, JP lit up a cigarette (to the shock of the conservative suits in the room) and perused the map of the given city block again.

After a while, he looked up. "No," he finally exhaled, smoke wafting from his mouth. "No, we shouldn't implement a pedestrian crossing there."

"On what grounds, Williams?"

"Urban design. Shared space concept. And the fact that there's another crosswalk less than a 100 feet from it. People can't be that damn lazy that they can't walk to the next crosswalk."

"But," a mousy woman piped up, "there's a motel right where we want to put the crossing. All the residents would use it quite frequently! It would be much easier for them to get to the bank or that cute little bakery across the street. And it's a large motel. It's simple utilitarianism."

Other voices murmured in agreement.

"No," JP responded brusquely. "No, people – it's not safe. Traffic goes by fastest in that area, and, look, there's a bus stop less than three miles away that also has to use that lane. It's just stupid to stick a pedestrian crossing in the middle of all of that."

"Are you saying that our idea is _stupid_?" the chairman barked.

"Yes! Look, you hired me for a reason."

"Well, let's put it to a vote!" the mousy woman interrupted, newly incensed. "All for the pedestrian crossing, raise your hands!"

Several tentative hands went up. Then more.

"Fine," JP growled, angrily stubbing out his cigarette on the table. "Fine. Do what you want, but I'm not going to be part of this mistake. Don't say I didn't warn you." He grabbed his messenger bag, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him.

x

Five minutes later, the board was drawing up the implementation of a pedestrian crossing, right across from Bobby's Bakery.

* * *

December 2007

Rachel shrugged on the last of her clothing (the white trench coat she had arrived in), feeling oddly serene for having just awoken from such a milestone. Her first time sleeping with Chandler. After more than fifteen years of friendship. _God, I've known him since his hair looked like Ace Ventura's. _She gently pulled her hair out of her coat, then turned to him.

He was still lying in the covers, staring up at her in comically dramatic wistfulness. "Please don't leave me," he said in a funny falsetto. "I'm going to be lonely."

Rachel laughed, then sat back down on the side of the bed. Chandler scooted over to her, and she ran a hand through his hair.

"Chandler, last night was… really great."

"_Really_ great."

"Really great," Rachel repeated. "But… do you think things will be… I don't know, _weird_, from now on?"

"What do you mean?"

Rachel sighed, mentally editing her next words. "You know… we've been friends for so long and everything. _Just_ friends… you know? Like, I've never slept with a man who I have so much history with before."

"What a coincidence, I've never slept with a man who I have history with before either."

A glare. "I'm serious, Chandler."

"This is a heavy discussion for 7 am."

But Rachel was persistent. "What do you think this mean for us?" She leaned in anticipation, hand now running through the back of his hair.

Chandler sighed.

"I think," he started slowly, "it means that two friends who have loved and cared for each other for a very long time… took a very natural step in their relationship. It happens, and this just… happened. Naturally."

Rachel nodded, obviously waiting for more.

"And… maybe it wasn't so unexpected?"

"Unexpected?" Rachel echoed.

"I mean, you can't say that – over all these years, you'd never – thought about it? I mean, let's be honest, I have before."

There was a long silence.

"…and now I feel like a tool."

"Oh, no," Rachel cut in. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking. You know, everything we've been through. And Mon."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Chandler sat up now. "For so much of my life, it was Ross and I, and you and Mon. Best friends. You know? You two were always my girls." He smiled here, eyes crinkling. "Sometimes it was you and I, sometimes it was Mon and I. It just happened to turn out Monica in the end, but I think – I think that, it probably would've always come down to you two."

Rachel let that sink in for a while. A sweet smile played across her lips, the picturesque scene topped off with the tranquil chirps of birds and bustling din of traffic outside the window. Then, as if deciding that that was a good stopping point in the conversation, Rachel exhaled deeply and smiled, "Thanks, sweetie." She gave Chandler's hand a final pat, then stood and tightened her coat. "Dinner tonight?"

Now that she was up, she seemed to be moving in double-speed – applying lipstick without a mirror and tying her hair back into an chic ponytail.

"Of course, but no more Arch-climbing. My legs still hurt." He grimaced at his sore muscles from last night's activities (all of them). "Do you really have to go now?"

She shot him a jokingly reproachful glare. "Yes, Chandler – _some _of us actually have to work on a Thursday. Not all of us are abroad on business and just landed a successful Telecom client for our corporations." She quickly regarded herself in the mirror. "Oh God, I didn't realize I'd be Walk-of-Shaming the same clothes I wore to work yesterday. Maxine is going to give me such crap."

"Why are you even wearing a Gucci coat to work anyway?" Chandler asked. "Isn't that, like, against the rules of fashion rivals?"

Rachel turned around, brow furrowed in surprise. "How did you know this was Gucci?"

There was a long pause.

"I feel like this bears repeating, but I don't sleep with men."

Rachel laughed and opened the hotel door. "Oh, I know that now," she smirked. "See you tonight."

"See you." Chandler smiled back, and Rachel was surprised at how this simple, innocuous act could convey so much love and fill her heart with such warmth.

She closed the door behind her, and both of them could no longer question whether they had ever just been friends.

* * *

September 1994

When Monica got up to get a drink at the counter, Chandler practically leapt over the armchair and was by her side in seconds.

"What is it, Chandler?" she asked sharply, picking up her coffee.

"The runaway bride? That's _Rachel_."

"It is."

"Rachel, your high school friend, my college Thanksgivings, Rachel. She came back."

"Nothing gets by you."

"Mon?"

"I know, I know." Monica sighed. "You want my permission to ask her out."

"What –" Chandler stammered. "How did you know?"

"Chandler, you spent her entire story gawking at her. Then, when she mentioned Mindy, you asked her if they ever had pillow fights in their underwear."

Chandler smirked to himself as his mind began to wander, but it snapped back. "That's a legitimate question!" he replied defensively.

Monica folded her arms. "When she asked if anyone had any gum so she could get the bad taste of Barry out of her mouth, you said you would volunteer your _tongue_."

"It was a joke!"

"Chandler, _no._" Monica jabbed a stern finger at him. "Rachel _just_ left her fiancé at the alter; she's way too vulnerable right now. For God's sake, she's still wearing her wedding dress! Baggage much? You need to back off."

"Please_?_" Chandler whined in a faux-childish plea. "_Please_?"

Monica picked up her now-lukewarm drink and brushed past Chandler on the way back to the couch. "No, Chandler. And I don't think it's me from whom you should be asking permission." She jerked her head in Ross's direction. "Hello? Did you just _meet _Ross? He'll never forgive you if you ended up with Rachel."

* * *

June 2010

"What are you doing?" Chandler entered the Le Marais kitchen, where Rachel was sitting unresponsively in front of a tall pile of blank white cards.

"Writing wedding invites, what does it look like?"

Chandler picked one up. "Well, I'm glad you invited Mr. and Mrs. Blank to the wedding of Insert Names Here," he quipped. "Where should we seat them?"

"Hey, it's hard, okay?" Rachel replied defensively. "I mean, I don't know whether to write in cursive or block letters… and I don't know how to start it... like, do I write, 'Hey there!' or 'You are cordially invited to'… I mean, 'cordially inviting' someone like Joey just doesn't seem right."

Chandler massaged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Why don't you just start with someone you know won't care? Who will be happy regardless of what you write on it or how you write it?"

"Hm," Rachel considered. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, that seems alright."

When Chandler left the room with his coffee, Rachel pulled one blank card towards her. Her calligraphy pen hovered hesitantly over the paper for a split second before she scrawled out two familiar names – in a loopy cursive font. From _Appartement 37, 218 R__ue de Rivoli_.

And at the last second, Rachel drew in a heart where the 'O' in 'Phoebe' should've been.

* * *

December 2008

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"_Perdon."_

Chandler held up a hand in acknowledgement and offered the man a nod. They had run into each other pretty hard, but luckily, the bottle of expensive wine Chandler had been clutching remained intact. He held it up for inspection.

"Ah, Pinot Noir," the Frenchman said. His English was tinted with a low, lilting accent. "I couldn't help but notice. Very good choice."

"Ah, thank you," Chandler smiled, trying to match the man's sophisticated tone. He always felt slightly emasculated next to European men… _even if this one seems to groom his eyebrows_. "My girlfriend loves it." Here, Chandler paused, reflecting on how oddly pleasant yet unfamiliar that word was. _Girlfriend. Rachel – my girlfriend. Rachel Green. _He mouthed the strange phrase over and over, enjoying how it sounded. He hadn't had a girlfriend in so long… and not to mention – it was _Rachel_. Chandler realized that it'd probably be a long time before he could get used to saying that.

"Anniversary?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of." _Of a… certain milestone, at least._

"Would it be alright if I could see the bottle? I was about to buy some wine myself."

"Sure." Chandler handed it to him, and when the man extended his hand, Chandler got a glimpse of the unique watch around his wrist.

"Hey," Chandler exclaimed, forgetting sophistication. "Neat-o watch! I've never seen one like that. Where did you get it?"

The man smiled, wistful lines appearing along his rugged jaw. "It is nice, no? My ex-girlfriend gave it for me, but I could not get rid of it. It is a Frank Gehry. Beautiful." He squinted at the wine label a bit longer, then returned it to Chandler. "Well, thank you. Your girlfriend must be very lucky that you have such good taste."

"Nah," Chandler smiled. "No, I'm the lucky one."

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. Again, sorry for leaving you with a less-than-awesome chapter before Hawaii. Thank you for reading, and as always, feel free to leave a comment/question/review/anything! Thanks. :)


	8. The Champs and The Terminal

(A/N) Hi all, I am back! Hawaii was amazing and relaxing! (: But I'm glad to be home, too. Thank you to the reviews I came back to: say what now, jenanistonfan, friendsfan101, sneaker89, dramaticwriting, BluEyes, Laurie M, and Jimmy P! You guys really make me smile. The general consensus across comments was: 1.) don't be modest, 2.) good luck with Physics, and 3.) your fic is less confusing now. To those, I say: 1.) thank you so much; that means more than you know!, 2.) thank you for this too; I ended up getting an A on the final and a B in the class!, and 3.) I'm SO glad to hear this, haha! :D

Well, we are nearing the end-ish of this fic (I think. tbh, I haven't gotten it planned out yet); maybe 3 or 4 more chapters? Just the usual heads-up ;). Notes/disclaimers: April 2005 references TOW Ross is Fine, and May 2000 is based on TOW The Proposal.

Onwards! :)

* * *

December 2007

For the fourth time that week, Rachel awoke on a bed of clouds, with a view of duck-egg blue walls and the Arc du Triomphe. And for the fourth time that week, she pulled her hair out of her coat and waited for her heart to sink a little more than it did the day before.

"So!" She cleared her throat and tried to sound light and airy. "Uh, when did you say you were going back to New York again?"

Chandler watched her from his usual spot on the bed. "So desperate to get rid of me?"

"No, no – it's just -"

"Monday." Chandler tried to sound light and airy too, but he might as well have groaned the word. Both of them had avoided the topic of his departure this entire time – hoping that if they never brought it up, it would just… go away.

"Well!" Rachel exhaled sharply, forcing a smile. "We should do something this weekend before you leave. Something big."

"Haven't you been _doing_ something big this whole week?"

The corners of Rachel's lips twitched, but she pursed them to keep from laughing. She patted his leg. "Honey, really… sometimes it's okay not to talk."

And there in the hallway as Rachel walked, in the stairwell, outside the building, in the cab as it hurled towards her office – all around her seemed to resonate that dark, heavy word: _Monday. Monday, Monday. _

* * *

April 2005

Ross placed the dish down on the table in front of Joey and Chandler, waiting for some kind of excited response from his two hungry friends.

Joey looked up. "Fajitas, Ross? Really?"

"Yes, _fajitas_," Ross sniffed haughtily. "What's wrong with fajitas?"

"Or do you mean, 'what's wrong with _FA-JI-TAS_!'?" Joey screamed the last word, accompanied with a meaningful glance.

"Yelling the word won't make me follow, Joe."

Joey tsked. "Okay, remember what happened the last time you made _fajitas_?" He stared harder. "When you were _fine?_"

Ross continued to stare, brow furrowed in confusion.

Chandler waved a hand. "You know, as much as I'm enjoying being awkwardly left out of what I'm sure is a _hysterical_ inside joke, can we maybe eat before the fajitas become fa-rozen?"

But Joey was resilient. He turned to Chandler. "Back when I was dating Rachel, Ross invited us over for dinner with him and Charlie. And he was acting all weird because he couldn't handle me being with Rachel. It was hilarious. Remember that?"

Across the table, Ross' face steeled.

"I can tell by your thrilled expression that you recall," Chandler quipped.

Joey brightened now. "Yeah, he was all, 'O is for Oh Gee!, E is for Extremely Normal!' Ooh, and the margaritas!" He laughed boisterously, bites of chewed up fajita visible in his open mouth. "Remember? Remember that, Ross?"

"Yeah, well – not as well as you, apparently," Ross bit back, with a humorless smile.

"Yeah," he turned back to Chandler, "that was the night I found out that Ross would never really be okay with anyone else being with Rachel."

"Well yeah, obviously."

"Oh, for sure."

"Hey, now," Ross interjected. "I'll have you know – that was the old me. New me is definitely _okay _with Rachel dating other people. Better than okay, even. I'm _totally_ over her."

Joey and Chandler made loud, simultaneous snorts of derision.

"I _am_," he insisted. "In fact, doesn't she have a boyfriend over there in Paris?"

"Well, we wouldn't know, now would we?" Chandler responded, smirking wryly. "We're not the ones who subscribe to Rachel's phonebook."

Joey tittered, and Ross pulled a face. "Whatever," Ross huffed, slicing his fajita with excessive force. "I'm totally okay with Rachel being with other people now. You know what? I wouldn't even care if she started dating Joey again. Or Paolo or Joshua or even – or even Chandler; that's how much I wouldn't care." He trailed off, voice losing its initial edge, into an almost quiet shrug. "I mean, you know – I'd be totally… totally… okay with it."

* * *

November 2007

"_No_ way," Rachel grinned into her silver mouthpiece, pleasantly surprised at this turn of events. She hadn't heard from her old friend in so long; it was almost surreal to hear his voice again. "No way!"

The snooty French man waiting for the elevator next to her shot her a dirty look, but Rachel ignored him.

"Chandler, that's awesome!" she continued. "I can't believe you got assigned Paris, of all places. We need to get lunch or something when you're in town; catch up and stuff. Where are you staying?"

"The Napoleon on the Champs."

"Ooh! I know where that is! It's not far from my apartment at all."

"Sweet! Lunch sounds awesome."

"Yeah, I know all the best places now. You can trust me to find you the best cuisine."

"This coming from the girl who didn't know how to make oatmeal until her 20's?"

Even 3000 miles away, Rachel could see the smirk on Chandler's laughing face. She laughed too, then a brief, comfortable silence.

"Mm." Rachel let out a low sigh. "It's been _too_ long, Chandler."

"It really has."

"I'm excited to see you."

"Same here. I've missed you. We all have."

"You know what? I can probably meet you at the airport. When do you get in?"

"About 8 pm on Monday."

_Monday, _Rachel mused, consulting her mental calendar._ Monday, Monday. _

* * *

May 2000

"Can you believe it?" Rachel sighed, flicking her long, straight blond hair out of her face before taking a sip of coffee. "Monica and Chandler getting married. Ugh. Isn't it incredible?"

"Yeah," Phoebe agreed with a tight smile. "They're going to be so happy together."

"I mean – two best friends falling in love? How often does that happen?"

"Not that often!"

"Mm." The two girls sighed and smiled at each other. "So happy for them."

"_So_ happy."

There was a long pause. Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. "So happy and not at all jealous."

"Oh God, no."

And so Rachel and Phoebe sat. Rachel wondered if Phoebe was also that teensy bit jealous for the same reason.

* * *

April 2008

Emma Geller-Green held out the two Motorola pieces to her father.

"Oh!" Ross's face immediately crumpled into a guilty frown. "Oh, thank you, honey. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen that."

But Emma only stared back, big intelligent eyes unblinking. "Why were you so mad on the phone?" she asked.

Ross sighed, almost a groan. "Oh… nothing. Just one of Daddy's friends being mean."

"Which friend?"

"No one, honey."

"Was it Uncle Chandler?"

Not for the first time in his life, Ross was taken aback by his young daughter's acute perceptiveness. He liked to think that she got it from his side of the chromosome.

Ross slumped and combed through Emma's wispy dark strands of hair. "Yes, Uncle Chandler. He's going to be living in France now."

"Like Mommy?"

"Well… like Mommy, _with_ Mommy… you know, whatever." Frustration bubbled.

Little Emma seemed oblivious of Ross's current internal emotional whirlpool. Always the level-headed calm to Ross's storm (yes, Ross was self-aware enough in this regard to recognize that this trait probably came from Rachel's side), the little girl only smiled.

"I like Uncle Chandler," she said simply. "He always makes me laugh and smile and happy. Sometimes when I was in Paris, Mommy would tell me how funny he is. So maybe he will do that for Mommy in Paris, too. It would be nice for Mommy to be happy more often, don't you think so?"

And then she picked up a coloring book from the table – just like that, seamlessly reverting back into the child she really was – leaving Ross slightly slack-jawed at how often Emma could unknowingly hit the nail on the head.

* * *

December 2007

Chandler gripped the handle of his silver suitcase a little tighter as Rachel snaked her arm through his.

He smiled, remembering the strange look the taxi driver had given him upon lifting that suitcase out of the trunk at the drop-off point. Sure, Chandler had winked conspiratorially in return; but he wasn't sure if the taxi driver had taken that to mean anything _more_ than a 'don't worry about it'. _You never know with those skinny mustached Frenchmen. _

Yes, Chandler was feeling lighthearted today… giddy, even. The same could not be said for the slender blond woman currently attached to his elbow. Indeed, Rachel was looking so glum that, more than once that day, Chandler had wanted so badly to just _tell_ _her_.

But he stopped himself every time. _Just a little longer._

"Oh!" Rachel chirped, as she passed by an arrivals/departure board. "Flight 0825 to JFK… that's you, honey. Look, it's on time." She nudged him to look at the announcements, trying to discreetly wipe away a tear as she did so. She played off a sniffle with a fake cough.

"Rach, I had such a great time in Paris," Chandler said quietly, letting go of his suitcase to rub the smooth expanse of her arm. "I mean, not just great. Amazing. Life-changing."

Rachel sniffed and smiled. That much was true. "I did, too," was all she said. She was afraid that any more words would compromise her carefully controlled emotions.

Chandler gave her a sad smile and brought her face close to his. The small airport seemed to close off around them.

"Don't miss me too much," he said innocuously, kissing her softly.

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and reveled in the moment, trying to soak up as much as she could before it was over. _Don't let this be real, _she thought. _And if it is, just let me stay here anyway. _She mentally memorized every nuance as thoroughly as she could, for those years to come when she would undoubtedly call upon this moment.

And then it was over. The moment was now a memory. Their whirlwind romance that no one saw coming – ended here.

x

Jolene, the airport employee behind the computer, startled a bit at what she was currently seeing on the screen. Quickly, she pressed pause on the conveyer belt and reached for her superior. "Alec," she muttered, pointing at the screen. "_Ce qui est cela?_ Is that right?"

They examined the x-ray image of the suitcase that had just been scanned. There was nothing wrong, per se – it was just… _strange. _

Because if what the x-ray showed was correct, the only things inside that silver suitcase were two large pillows – with the words _Hotel Napoleon _stitched on its thin, silk corners.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! Hopefully the ending wasn't too obscure - I often have a problem with assuming everyone understands my attempts to get certain things across, haha. Or so my old journalism advisor told me. Anyway, please feel free to drop a review and let me know what you thought about anything. Thanks for reading, and I'll update soon! :)


	9. The Napoleon and The Escalators

(A/N) Hi all! Sorry for the late-ish update. It's back to school/move-in season! :) Anyway, thank yous go out to friendsfan101, sneaker89 (hope this chapter answers your question, ;]), BluEyes, dramaticwriting (hope this chapter also answers your question ;]), Laurie M, say what now, MorganlovesFriends, and Adrienne Mason (next chapter will answer your question ;])! Seriously, all your reviews are so perceptive and great - either you correctly predicted a plot point or guessed at something I was going to mention in a future chapter! I can't describe how happy that makes me... It's like you guys are so invested that you're getting ahead of the author, hehe. And thank you for all the well-wishes, too. I really couldn't ask for better readers than you guys! :D So thanks again.

Notes/disclaimers: none :O. haha, onwards!

* * *

December 2007

The man behind the Hotel Napoleon front desk looked up, startled at the flustered American man who was currently clunking towards the rotating doors.

"Sir!" Frederic called out at the brown-haired American. "Sir! Are you leaving?" He eyed the man's silver suitcase suspiciously. "You need to check out over here, please."

Chandler exhaled in exasperation. "Look, I know this may sound weird, but I'm not leaving," he said, eyeing the door nervously. Outside, there was a cab waiting for him – a pretty blond woman waved from the backseat.

Frederic's eyes narrowed. He hated when these Americans assumed he was stupid. "Sir, you have packed your bags and you are about to enter a vehicle from our hotel-airport shuttle service. You are trying to leave our establishment without checking out. Now, you must check out here."

Chandler groaned and rolled his suitcase over to the front desk. "Look, _pal_," he started, giving Frederic a wide-eyed glare, "I was in room 508. If you don't believe me, send a guy up there to check – he'll find that all my stuff is still there, okay? I think there may even be a half-eaten box of cashews on the table that I plan on finishing later."

"There's no need for attitude."

"If I had a nickel for each time I heard that." Chandler shook his head and went on, "Look, you have to believe me. My friend is outside and I want her to think I'm leaving, but I'm not. I promise you you'll see me back tonight. Long story."

Frederic raised a skeptical eyebrow… he was now inches away from believing this man. There was something earnest in his eyes. _Something honest. _

And as if he could sense that Frederic was about to give in, Chandler suddenly snapped his fingers. "I'll prove it," he said, effortlessly swinging the suitcase onto the marble countertop. His fumbling fingers quickly unzipped the bag to reveal nothing but two hotel pillows. "See? It's empty. Trust me." He exhaled and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

December 2007

"I see," Steve said solemnly, listening to the man on the other side of the phone line.

"So," Chandler continued, sounding incredibly nervous, "I called Telecom and talked them into letting me stay on as a consultant until the ad runs in February – I told them it was to, you know, make sure they're satisfied from start to finish. I'd oversee casting, set, direction… all that. I told them I'd talk to you first, of course." He paused hesitantly. "Sir."

Steve smiled. He'd always liked Chandler and admired the way innovation and ideas seemed to come so easily to the man, even though he outwardly seemed like a bumbling goof. This idea was no exception. "Bing," he said, gruffly. "I got an email from Telecom this morning, did you know that?"

"Uh, no," Chandler stammered. "No, uh, I didn't know that. What did they say?"

"They said that they initially were on the fence about working with our company when they contacted us. Then, they said that a couple of days ago, they met our representative for the first time. Apparently, his creativity and ability to think on-the-spot impressed them and really solidified their trust in our company."

"Uh huh."

"They meant you, Chandler."

"Right. I knew that."

"So they were excited to work with us after that. This morning, they emailed to let me know how impressed they were that we cared about our clients enough to send over individual consultants to work with them from production start to finish. Basically, they emailed to let me know that, because of you – they want to work with us for the rest of their advertising ventures."

Chandler was speechless.

"So even if I had any reservations about letting you stay in Paris for a couple more months to work with them, I would have to say – you single-handedly earned the trust of Telecom France, so you earned the extra months. Paid."

Immediately, there was sputtering on the other side of the line. Steve laughed.

"T-thank you, sir!" Chandler could get the words out. "You have no idea how much this means to me. I can't wait to tell Rachel."

"Just make me proud out there, Bing."

Then Steve paused. _Rachel? _He shrugged off the unfamiliar name and hung up, returning to his mid-afternoon emails.

* * *

February 2008

"Before I let you go, Monsieur Bing," the thin-lipped Human Resources department head said, "I hope you don't mind me asking."

"Shoot." Chandler smiled kindly.

"You said you have not terminated your current employment with…" She squinted at the printed resume, "Fleischman-Hill Advertising?"

"Yet," Chandler quickly cut in. "Yet. I'm going to quit soon. Immediately actually." _As long as I get this job…_

Mrs. Abney chuckled. "Ah, I'm not judging you, Monsieur. I understand that many people want to secure a new job before letting go of their other. But I noticed that Fleischman-Hill is in New York? United States? How are you managing juggling a job in the USA while searching for one here?"

Chandler laughed and fiddled with his tie (a Speed Racer one that Rachel had bought for him as good luck that week). "Well, ma'am, it's a long story. I'm working here as an overseas consultant for Fleischman-Hill. And I actually don't have a permanent residence in either New York or Paris right now, so that makes it easier."

A knowing smile etched onto Mrs. Abney's face. "There is a woman involved, no?"

"Isn't there always?"

x

Outside the RCG France office structure, Chandler couldn't help grinning. That interview had gone better than expected. If all went according to plan, he would (hopefully) soon be RCG France Advertising's newest US-Branch-Relations Manager.

And the best part about the job?

Located in Paris, France.

_Permanently._

_

* * *

_

July 2010

As he took a sip of coffee, Joey noticed Phoebe staring intently at him, unable to hide the huge grin on her face.

"Pheebs, why are you staring at me like that? It's kind of freaking me out."

"So? Did'ya get one?" She was practically bouncing on the couch.

"Get what?"

Phoebe pulled her hands out from behind her back to reveal a small white envelope, with her name and Mike's written in calligraphy. "Uh, an invitation to Rachel and Chandler getting married, that's what!" she practically screamed in excitement.

Across the coffeehouse, Gunther set down his clipboard. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"No way." Joey frowned at Phoebe, eyebrows creasing.

"No way?" Phoebe's face fell. "No way, what do you mean, no way? 'No way', like you can't believe it? Or 'no way' like, you didn't get one?"

Joey paused, then slowly broke out into a grin. He whipped out a similar envelope from his pocket. "No way' as in no way I _didn't_ get one!"

"Oh! Oh! I see what you did there!"

"Yeah!"

"Two best friends falling in love!" Phoebe cried. "How often does that happen?"

"Not that often!"

The two friends leapt to their feet, clapping and jumping and giggling. They almost didn't notice when the Central Perk door dinged open.

"Hi."

Phoebe and Joey immediately froze; mid-clap, mid-jump, mid-giggle. They knew that wistful, forlorn tone of voice all too well.

"Uh… hey, Ross," Joey greeted, holding up a hand. "Did you, uh, did you hear the news?"

"Yeah."

"And?" Phoebe prompted, as Ross took a seat on the armchair. "Do you think you're… going to go?"

There was a long silence, and two friends watched as years of history rewrote itself on Ross's face. Every moment, every kiss, every ounce of Rachel – manifested itself then, in the deep lines along his jaw, between his brow, under his eyes.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

But then Ross smiled, and the simple act rearranged his face just so that the lines disappeared. A thing of the past.

"Yeah. I'm going." he exhaled, still smiling. "Can't wait."

* * *

December 2007

It was around the moment that Chandler noticed that the conveyer belt had stopped moving that he noticed that the young woman behind the computer was beginning to eye him suspiciously. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she continued talking in swift French to the man next to her.

Slowly, the officers walked over to him. The woman's face was cold. "Sir, can you come with us, please?"

"Wait, this is about the suitcase, right?" Chandler didn't wait for an answer, and went on, "Well, don't worry. You can keep it. Because _I_ - " he did a little hop and grinned – "am going back into the airport. That's right, you heard me. I'm going back!"

Jolene and Alec stared in open-mouthed confusion.

"You heard me; keep the suitcase," Chandler repeated, unable to stop grinning. "Keep it! I'm not getting on a plane today. In fact, I don't even have my passport! Or a ticket!" He laughed loudly, aware that just about everyone within a ten-foot radius was beginning to stare at him. "You know why? Because I'm staying in Paris. With the woman I've known for twenty years… and with whom I think I might very well be in love with."

With that, Chandler made a little spastic bow and jogged confidently back out of the metal detector and through the rows of staring people. Jolene and Alec didn't chase him.

And then he was off.

Running through the airport, running, drunk on carefree happiness, his heart thudding in anticipation and every so often skipping a beat in the way hearts sometimes skip beats when one excitedly lets the mind wander and eventually realizes in a jolt just how unbelievably happy one would soon be – running, business shoes squeaking on the tiled floors and arms shoving his way through the crowds and the people fading into motion blurs.

He spotted her near the escalators.

x

As she neared the escalators, Rachel let the tears she'd been holding back all morning run free. Hot tears sprung to her eyes, her nose reddened. _God, I must look like a mess, _she sniffled and wiped her nose on her cashmere cardigan. A line of snot ran across it. _So attractive. _

She missed him already; missed the way he knew her on almost every level imaginable, how his presence came pre-packaged with understanding of both her past and her present day lives. A tiny voice in her head reminded her – _But not the future._

Rachel found herself already calling on the memory of their goodbye. _It's barely been half an hour, _she thought miserably. _If I can't even go half an hour without missing him; how am I going to get through the days ahead? _

Sure, these memories were fresh in her mind now, but what would happen in a day? A month? A year? The memories would fade, unravel until they were unrecognizable, and leave her wondering if they ever happened at all.

"Rach!"

_God, it's almost like I can still hear his voice…_

"Rachel, wait!"

Her eyes snapped open as someone suddenly grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and spun her around.

And standing there in front of her, as if plucked straight from her thoughts, was Chandler – grinning but breathing hard, with beads of sweat pooling along his forehead and the dampness causing his short brown hair to spike. His hand was still clutched at her shoulder.

"Chandler!" Rachel breathed, flabbergasted. "What are you – I mean, how are –"

But Chandler never let her finish that thought. Because at that very moment, his hands reached for the back of her neck and his lips crashed onto hers – as urgent as if he were a drowning man and she were oxygen, as if he were dying of thirst and she were ice-cold water.

And even though she hadn't had ample time to recover from her initial surprise at finding Chandler in front of her and not on a plane back to New York, and even though they were crowded in the middle of hundreds of people – Rachel could still feel it_. It. _

It – pure, unadulterated, fervent need for another human being; so strong it knocked the wind from Rachel and made her weak in the knees.

"I'm not going anywhere," Chandler murmured as he pulled back slightly to smile and envelop a teary-eyed Rachel into his arms. He rubbed her back, tracing soothing circles into her cardigan. "Trust me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. Feel free to let me know what you thought or if you have any questions! :) Thanks for reading, and I'll update soon! yay!


	10. Paris and The Shared Apartment

(A/N) Hi all! Wow, where to start? First of all, a HUGE, GIGANTIC apology for how ridiculously long it's taken me to update! I know it seems like I abandoned this fic, but I had it in the back of my head all year! I was just insanely swamped with school. But now it's winter break, whoop! And I really want to thank those of you who were SO sweet in sending me messages asking me what was up. They played a huge role in motivating me to update! You guys are so great. (: (: Secondly, I haven't written this in SO long, so apologies if the style has changed somewhat (for the worse, haha). This wasn't a conscious decision, but you fellow writers will understand, right? When you're first invested in a fic, you tend to think about it more/write better; the longer you spend away from it, the more your writing starts to change. So I dearly hope that this next chapter (the first I've written in 3 months!) doesn't disappoint or seem _too _different.

Anyway, thank yous go out to BluEyes, friendsfan101, MorganLovesFriends, Laurie M, saywhatnow, and Friendsfan! Ah writing these familiar names made me miss you guys a bunch!

Notes/disclaimers: December 1997 is based on TOW The Girl From Poughkeepsie, November 1987 is based on TOW The Stripper Cries. Part of April 2008 dialogue is loosely based on one of my _favorite _scenes from the good ol' 90's show Boy Meets World. Let me know if you recognize it! ;)

Onwards! :D

* * *

April 2008

Chandler saw the number on his caller ID and felt heavy resignation settle at the bottom of his stomach. He turned the phone over and over in his hand. True – deep down, he had been expecting this call for weeks. But despite his mental steeling, Chandler still couldn't help feeling the slightest bit jittery when he finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Chandler!" The bellowing voice caught and quavered with emotion. It paused, then tried again. "Chandler. Explain yourself."

"I love her, Ross."

Chandler clenched his jaw, as if daring his overseas friend to defy him.

This brief declaration was met with an impossibly long pause – silent with so much depth that Chandler thought he could've fit ten Grand Canyons within it.

"_But.._." Just that one heavy syllable squeezed through twisted lips in a guttural and tortured groan. Chandler could almost picture Ross's forlorn face, crumpling at the weight of his thoughts. "You're – _not._ I mean, you just – you _can't _be_…_"

"I am. I am, Ross. And I'm really sorry."

"But." He sighed again. "It's _Rachel._"

Chandler sighed as well. "I know." His voice softened.

"Ross, listen… I _know_ I haven't been with Rachel for my entire life. I'm not you. I haven't dreamt about taking her to prom or loved her since I saw her in a two-piece in 9th grade. I know I'm not one half of the infamous "Ross and Rachel", and people don't call me her 'lobster'. I _know_ that, okay? I don't even have half the history with her that you have, Ross – but it doesn't mean I can't love her. I mean, Rachel and I have been friends for almost 20 years. That's longer than most couples have been together. We grew up ten miles from each other, she was childhood friends with the woman who would eventually become my wife, and with the man who would eventually become my roommate - and my best friend."

Here, Ross made a small indecipherable noise.

"I'd always thought fate was bullshit," Chandler went on, "but you have to admit that that seems pretty close."

Chandler barreled on, "When I was eighteen, Ross, she put down her drink on our common room table and she kissed me. She taught me how to tell a fake Armani from a real one. For ten years, we lived across the hall from each other. I know her favorite movie, her favorite food. She told me about her parents and her favorite place to be touched. Then, what happened with Mon..." Chandler drifted off, unable to elaborate. "The Lost Years. I still don't understand it. All I understood was that Rach was the reason I got through it, that she was the girl I sat up all night thinking about, and when I'm with her, I feel happy again. Like I can do anything. Even talk to you like this. So that's - that's what I think is love, Ross. When – even despite everything that happens… I can be better because she's here."

Ross didn't answer. Chandler couldn't even be sure if he was still on the line.

"Ross, I know you've been so invested in Rachel your entire life that you're too busy always feeling, like, _entitled_ to her… but seriously – if you take the blinders off your eyes long enough to take a step back, you might see that someone else can make her happy. Someone else besides you."

There was unmistakable anger on Ross's side of the line now. His voice was deathly calm when he finally responded, "Goodbye, Chandler."

x

Ross seethed, clutching his Motorola so tightly that he could feel the key pad imprinting into his skin. _How… dare he?_ There were so many levels of _wrong _that Chandler had just crossed, Ross didn't even know where to begin hating him.

The tiny voice in the back of his head reminded Ross that his deductions were about as ridiculous as intelligent design, and not to mention, deduced with a mind clouded with anger and disbelief. The scientist in him begged him to keep a clear head and think about this logically. Empathize with Chandler. Try to see things from his point of view. _Maybe one thing led to another, and he really _has_ fallen in love with Rachel._

But he couldn't see it that way. He hated Chandler too much at the moment to feel anything but spite.

His usually composed face contorted into a frustrated growl, Ross chucked his phone against the opposite wall, hard. It landed in two pieces on the carpet.

The part that scared him the most was how much he knew that Chandler could be right.

* * *

December 1997

The excited group of men circled around Chandler began to grow steadily. "Whoa whoa whoa, wait. Is this hot-Rachel-that-you-took-to-the-Christmas-Party Rachel?" one suited coworker asked.

Chandler balked, remembering how his other coworker Mike had referred to Rachel with the exact name just earlier that afternoon. "Okay," Chandler held up a hand, "has there been an official name change going around for her that I haven't been informed of?"

They ignored him.

"Is it true she was a Kappa?" Ted from Legal asked.

"Uh, I –" Chandler started, but was interrupted by the ongoing chatter.

"What's Kappa?"

"It's a sorority, you dumbass."

"A hot sorority girl?" Bradley from Accounting lit up. "_And_ she's looking for a date?" He pulled out two tickets from his suit pocket. "Bing, these two Knicks tickets are yours if you hook me up."

Chandler's eyebrows raised. "Well, in that case, you know, it was also a lesbian sorority."

"Make that _three _Knicks tickets."

Chandler snickered giddily to himself and snatched the tickets from Bradley's hands. The rest of the room dissolved in disappointed grumbles.

When the men returned to their respective lunches, Bradley, the proud victor, perched on the edge of Chandler's table, clasping his hands together in anticipation. "So, tell me about this girl, Chandler. I mean, we all saw her in that black dress at the Christmas party, but what is she _like_?"

Chandler paused, mid-bite of his sandwich, as he registered this. "Like?"

"I want to know what kind of date to plan, what to talk about, you know? Describe her."

"Huh." Chandler chewed once, still contemplating. _Describe Rachel?_ That was going to be hard. He had hundreds – no, thousands – of words he could use, thousands of stories he could share. He could tell Bradley about Rachel's huge heart and the way she had once tried to get her coworkers to quit smoking. Or about her dedication and how she'd worked herself up from spoiled daddy's girl to coffee shop waitress to Bloomingdales buyer. Or about her immeasurable bravery in walking away from an unhappy future at the altar…

Chandler felt a sudden, unexpected rush of pride. This was _his _friend – this _amazing_ girl that all his coworkers were fighting over – _and for some reason I'll never understand… she chose to be mine._

* * *

December 2007

"You're kidding."

Rachel and Chandler were sitting in his Napoleon hotel room, a couple hours after returning from the airport hoax, and a few minutes after an intolerably silent cab ride.

"I'm not. I really did get a job here." Chandler exhaled with a smile. "I'm staying."

Rachel let out a noise that was somewhere between a disbelieving laugh and a groan; more than indicative of her current mood. She was a ball of mixed emotion – ecstatic to the point of shivering anger, angry to the point of giddy enthusiasm. _Chandler was staying in Paris for good. Okay, but Chandler didn't tell me and pulled a prank (as usual) instead. _Ecstatic, angry. Angry, ecstatic. _He made me feel this. _Rachel pushed her palms into her eyelids.

"I'm sorry, did I miss something here?" Chandler joked, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight. "I mean, I _did _say 'I'm staying in Paris' and not 'I accidentally killed your cat', right?"

"Chandler." Rachel sighed, cutting him off. "I'm thrilled, really, I am."

"Could've fooled me."

"It's just, this is a really big deal." She stared at him. "A _huge_ deal, actually. Quitting a job you've had for years, uprooting yourself from the city you've lived in all your life, moving halfway around the world? To be with me?" Her voice rose. "Aren't you even worried about what people will think, what our _friends _will say? Aren't you -"

"Scared?" Chandler cut in. "Am I scared? Of course I'm scared, Rach. You think I have any idea what I'm doing? You think I don't go a single day without wondering what I'm going to say to explain to everyone?" He pulled the plushy chair from the table over to the bed and sat at Rachel's feet. "But you know what? I. want. this. I want to be with _you_, Rach. And if this is what I have to do, I'm doing it. I'm done being scared. Forget being scared. Fuck being scared." He paused and frowned at his curse. "Pardon my French."

There was a long, loaded silence. Chandler could hear the bustling noises of chatter on the street below as he stared expectantly at Rachel. His heart beat in his ears. Her blue eyes welled almost immediately, and her upper lip trembled. It wavered but settled on a slight smile.

"_Vous pouvez vivre avec moi_," Rachel finally said quietly, corners of her mouth turning upward.

Chandler stared back blankly. "Come again?"

Rachel couldn't fight her smile anymore. She chuckled, reaching out to place a hand on Chandler's cheek. "I _said_," she repeated, leaning in slightly, "You can live with me." She left a soft, lingering kiss on his lips and sat back again, smirking. "Pardon _my_ French."

* * *

November 1987

Rachel could feel Chandler's hand moving across her side, but she was too dizzy to do anything about it. She had never been as drunk as she was, and she was starting to go quite numb, starting with her extremities. She could also gauge that she was about ten minutes from falling into a dead sleep.

Chandler's hand was fumbling past her to open a door. _Oh. _Through her hazy state of mind, Rachel could make out numbers and words on it. _Chandler and Ross's room. _The door opened.

"Well, this is it," Chandler muttered in her ear. "You can sleep here." He sounded slightly nervous; Rachel could see his hands, which were around her waist, wring themselves together. She smiled and wrapped her own around his to stop the wringing.

Rachel gave the room a cursory glance. It was the epitome of youthful masculinity – guitars in the corner, posters of bands and girls in bikinis, comic books strewn over textbooks. "Awesome room," she replied politely, although it was a bit too messy even by her already laidback standards. She thought back to her immaculately matching room at home.

And inexplicably, that was the only thing she could think of – even as Chandler sat her down, leading by tongue, onto his bed. _Green trimmed pillows. Quilted duvet. _The images of her room couldn't stop materializing in her head as she kissed him, her best friend's brother's roommate. _Victorian dresser, poster of Corey Haim, off-white comforter._

Eventually, Rachel finally felt the talons of sleep pulling her under, and Chandler left to rejoin the party outside. The last image she saw before she fell asleep was a plate of half-eaten pizza buried under some notebooks on Chandler's desk.

_Ugh, gross… _she thought drowsily, as the image of the pizza began to spin beneath her closing eyelids. _Poor Ross. I'd hate to have to be this guy's roommate…_

* * *

December 2013

The apartment door swung open, startling Chandler momentarily before he noticed who was standing on the other side.

"Hi, Uncle Chandler!" the brunette twig-legged preteen grinned from the doorframe, tossing her Louis Vuitton carry-on travel bag onto the nearby couch and running into the room. Chandler broke into a genuine smile as he hugged Emma Geller-Green. He hadn't seen her since the first half of her summer break in June.

Rachel followed, looking effortlessly winter chic in a knit sweater and high black boots as she pulled in Emma's suitcase and shut the door. "Oh honey, what are you doing?" she tutted. "Chandler, don't look now, but Emma's texting while she's giving you a hug."

"I am not!" Emma laughed, pulling a face at her mom. "I'm just checking what all my friends are writing me on Facebook. They're devastatingly jealous that I always get to spend my winter breaks in Paris."

"Look at her." Chandler joked and walked over to greet his wife with a kiss. "Facebook. All those friends. 'Devastatingly' jealous. You've raised a little version of yourself."

"Mm," Rachel smiled, eyes narrowing teasingly. "I wouldn't speak too soon. She told me she wants Daddy to send her to science camp this summer."

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. I hope it wasn't too much of a departure from previous chapters! Feel free to let me know what you thought in a review! :) There will probably be one or two more chapters after this one before my story is over! Thanks for reading, and this time - I promise I'll update ASAP. x)


	11. Washington Square and the Living Room

(A/N) Hi all! Thanks for all the kind responses to my welcome-back chapter! :) That being said, I think I'm prouder of this next chapter. I spent a while re-reading Time Traveler's Wife and re-watching episodes of Friends on my TiVo to try to get back into that style/mode I was in during the summer... and after some time, I think I found it long enough to write the last two chapters of this fic. (I know, can you believe it's almost over? Seems like just yesterday I started this! -tears-) Heh.

Thank yous go out to: Laurie M, Blu Eyes, (Anonymous), friends fan, friendsfan101, dramaticwriting101, Morgan, and say what now! You guys really brought a smile to my face... you guys (and the rest of my readers, whoever they are) are why I keep writing in the first place :) :)  
Okay, sappy moment over. Hee. :)

Notes/disclaimers: January 1997 is based on TOW Chandler Can't Remember Which Sister, and August 2010 has dialogue from TOW Chandler and Monica's Wedding.

Onwards!

* * *

November 2010

It was New York, and Ross Geller was a man lost.

There could've been something ironic about that, but Ross wasn't lost in the physical sense, not in the streets where he was born and raised. He wasn't even mentally lost; he knew exactly what was going on and why he had decided to come.

No, Ross was lost in his thoughts. Wandering, more like, as he stared hard at his reflection in the mirror.

He was wearing an Armani suit, his hair slicked back to reveal his slightly receding hairline. Rachel's big shot fashion boss herself would've even approved of Ross' appearance – "silver-fox sophisticated yet youthfully casual"…

But Ross hated what he saw. Because Ross hated suits.

Every time he had worn suits in his life, some kind of negative memory became associated with it. He had worn suits to a dateless prom, to his weddings that eventually fell apart, to job interviews gone sour… to Mon's funeral_. _

_Be honest with yourself, _Ross thought blandly, as he stared at himself. _Would you ever, in a million years, have thought you'd end up like this? Wearing a suit at a wedding where Rachel Green is the bride… and you're _not _the groom? _He sucked in a breath. _No, not in a million years. _

Because, deep down, and perhaps foolishly – Ross had always harbored the secret belief that he would, somehow, eventually end up with Rachel; that there were legions of imaginary people out there just rooting for them to be together, that the universe would throw them together in either some spectacular dramatic fashion as with TV series finales, or quietly and perfectly – as the two would orbit each other for years and eventually come together.

But he could've never seen this coming. _Chandler. _

Ross said his best friend's name with neither malice nor wistfulness; after all, it had been a long time. Ross was beyond feeling angry or disappointed. He was happy that Chandler and Rachel were together, and he was happy that they were happy. But he couldn't honestly say that he was _happy, _period. Not just yet.

Ross walked over to his plush Washington Square Hotel bed and sat down. His knees cracked. He pulled out the photograph he had in his jacket pocket and perused it, smiling slightly. It was a picture of Monica and Rachel on Halloween, years and years ago; Rachel was dressed as Wonder Woman, and Monica as a bride. Ross turned it over in his hands, appreciating the matte print that had since gone out of style.

_Knock_.

"Come in!" Ross cleared his throat and stood again.

Chandler appeared in the doorframe, looking nervous and pale and jittery. "Uh, hey," he croaked. "It's almost time to head down."

"Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see his best man before the wedding?" Ross joked.

That was the wrong thing to say. The rest of the color drained from Chandler's face. "Oh God, is it?"

"It's not. And let's put it this way: consider this – I never talked to my best men before each of _my_ weddings."

The color returned. "Ah, right. In that case." Chandler shrugged and walked into the room.

"Nervous?"

"No, why? Do I _look _nervous? It's not like I tried running away from my first wedding or anything." He paused as a sudden realization hit him. "Oh God. Rach did, too, didn't she? Okay. You know, I started this, but it's not funny anymore."

Ross clapped a hand on Chandler's shoulder and smiled. "Calm down, man. You look great." And it was the truth.

"Thanks." Chandler's words came out like an exhalation, brimming with a think-and-you'll-miss-it hint of relief and happiness. His shoulders relaxed. "What's that?"

"Huh?" Ross glanced down at the photograph he was still holding. "Oh. It's just this picture I found at home. I think Rachel gave it to Mon on her wedding day. Look." He handed Chandler the Halloween picture.

In that moment, as Chandler gazed at the photograph, Ross saw him as Monica might've seen him twelve years ago – a young man in a suit on his wedding day, carefree and happy, before the unimaginable tragedies of the new decade caught him.

Chandler broke into a squinty-eyed grin at the image of the girls – both their girls. They were ten years old. "Monica always wanted to be a bride."

The right thing to say came so easily to Ross, so real and instinctive and natural. "You gave her the chance to be one."

_You made one of her dreams come true. _His words – simultaneously an apology and a thank-you.

"Ross…"

The men didn't do sappy moments. They smiled sheepishly, they shuffled their feet, they sputtered a laugh and collided in a rough, awkward man-hug. And that was that. The resolution washed over Ross like a bucket of hot, hot water.

Chandler tried to hand the photo back to Ross, but Ross shook his head. "No, keep it," he insisted. He smiled. "Today, you're marrying Wonder Woman."

* * *

March 2010

Wedding planner Cheryl Ingram folded her hands on her desk and studied the couple currently sitting in front of her.

The woman had straight dark blond hair almost to her waist, with stylish bangs cut off in a straight line below her eyebrows. She was wearing a white dress shirt with the top button undone, black straight-leg slacks, and a pair of ecru flats. She probably had Barneys on speed dial. The man had short brown hair that slightly stuck up at the top, black-rimmed glasses, and a crooked smirk that indicated that he was probably more clever than he let on.

It was Cheryl Ingram's job to discern these things about her customers; that's what made her such a good wedding planner. She could tell what people wanted – sometimes before they even knew what they wanted, themselves.

But these two were something else.

"So." Cheryl lit a thin Parliament. "You want to get married in front of the Washington Square Arch?"

Rachel Green and Chandler Bing glanced at each other and grinned. Almost simultaneously, they said, "Under it."

* * *

January 1997

"And then, bam!"

Rachel jumped.

"Bam. I shot him. Just like that. Right there in the big toe." The buxom, tall-haired Italian girl (_Gina? Dina? Or was it Mary Angela?_) grinned and took another swig of her drink. "Hey, you guys got any more of those green jello shots?"

Rachel gave Joey's sister a small smile, grateful for any excuse to leave. "Yeah, actually. Let me get you some. They're right over there." When she finally managed to reach the door, she muttered to herself, "Yeah, right over there on the carpet where Chandler decided to spill all of them." Finally freed from her conversation, Rachel sighed and ran a hand through her blond bangs. It wasn't that she didn't _like _the Tribbiani sisters; they were all kind enough to her (if not to their now big-toe-less ex-husbands). It was just that they were so… _loud. _Personality-wise and decibel-wise.

_Okay. I need some air. _

Rachel half-scoffed, half-laughed when she pulled open the door.

"_Mon_ica! Chandler!"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry," Chandler replied a bit disjointedly, as he dislodged his tongue from where it had been in Monica's throat. He held Monica back by the shoulders and blinked several times, as if seeing her for the first time. "Sorry. When I've been drinking, I tend to get a little – um – overly friendly."

Rachel put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"I know, honey. I know," Monica replied patiently, discreetly wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand. "It's okay. Just… promise me you'll try to stay away from people for a while. _All_ people."

"I can do that. Yes. I can _definitely _do that."

"Okay." Monica gave him one last warning glare before walking back into the room. When she passed by Rachel in the doorway, she muttered, "Can you believe him? 18 jello shots, and he thinks he's George Clooney or something. Keep an eye on him while you're outside?"

Rachel nodded and gave Monica a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. The door shut behind her.

"_Rach_," Chandler greeted her with a reverential smirk, taking a step towards her.

"Chandler." Rachel responded back, in the warning tone one would use with an unruly child. "Don't you think you should maybe take a seat on the ground for a while?"

He rearranged his face into a serious expression, imitating her. "And don't _you_ think you should take a seat on my lap for a while?"

"Chandler."

He closed the distance between them, placing both hands on Rachel's shoulders. "You know, this is such a pretty sweater, Rach," he said, squinting about five inches south of her face. "Where – where, wherever did you get it?"

Rachel smirked in slight amusement. She humored him. "Barneys."

"What about your face?" His hands roamed upwards, onto her flushing cheeks. "I also think it's pretty. Did you get it at Barneys?"

"Huh."

Rachel knew she could've stopped him then. She _knew._ She could've said something about Ross needing her, or Mon bringing out Joey's cake, or Gina/Dina/Mary Angela waiting for her, something – _anything_ to break the preposterous, indescribable effect that was keeping her feet rooted to the floor.

But she didn't.

_It's just Chandler, right? _Her friend, Chandler. Her drunk friend, Chandler, in a green sweater vest and collared shirt, who kept telling her how pretty she was while he began to clumsily kiss her, over and over again, right there in the hallway connecting the two apartments where they lived.

It was funny at first. Rachel smiled against Chandler's teeth, played along, and giggled as the hand holding her at the small of her back moved hungrily downwards, into her back pocket, then across her thighs, then slowly between them, then –

"_Whoa_ there, buddy." Rachel's eyes widened, and she roughly pushed Chandler off of her. He stumbled backwards, still breathing heavily.

An awkward silence followed, as both friends paused to catch their breaths. There was quickly dissipating heat. Rachel folded her arms self-consciously.

"Sorry." Chandler finally put a hand to his forehead and paced in place. "Sorry, Rach. That was – just – when I've been drinking, I tend to get a little overly friendly."

"Mm. So I've heard."

"This was the first time I've kissed you since college."

The corners of Rachel's mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile. "Oh yeah? And how was it?"

"Every bit as wonderful as the first one."

Rachel's smile faded.

_Don't react, _she told herself_. _Her heart skipped a beat. _The million-dollar question is: In the morning, will he remember he said this? Don't react._

But Rachel never got the chance to, because, luckily, at that very moment, the door swung open (as interrupting door openings seemed to be a recurring motif), and Ross Geller appeared in the frame. His wide eyes quickly took in the scene; his girlfriend's smeared lipstick and flushed face, his best friend's disheveled hair.

"What the _hell_ is going on out here?" he croaked, trying to sound calm and failing miserably.

"_Ross_!" Chandler greeted him, pushing past Rachel to wrap an arm around his best friend. "This shirt on you… is perfection. You _must_ tell me where you bought it, my good man."

"Get off of me," Ross muttered, shoving Chandler away and back into the apartment (where a certain Tribbiani sister was waiting to catch his fall).

Ross was alone with Rachel. His glare was accusatory.

Rachel forced herself to keep her voice steady. "When Chandler's been drinking, he tends to get a little overly friendly," she said, very quietly and simply.

"So I've heard," Ross replied, just as quietly and just as simply.

* * *

August 2010

Chandler was watching his own vows.

In his opinion, it felt either like he was having an out-of-body experience or like he was a movie star watching himself onscreen. Either way, it felt – _weird_.

_Surely it can't be the fact that you're watching videos of your first wedding in attempts to be inspired to write your vows for your second wedding, to your late first wife's best friend and one your own oldest friends. _Chandler snorted sarcastically to himself._ Yeah, it's gotta be because you feel like a movie star. Idiot._

Monica appeared onscreen.

Chandler inhaled sharply, quickly, quietly. He watched with bated breath as onscreen Monica, so radiant and beautiful in her veil, turned to Rachel for her note cards. The person filming (probably Monica's cousin Cassie) shifted, wobbling the camera slightly.

Living Room Chandler wished then, so, _so_ desperately that he could reach into the screen and touch Monica on her cheek, hold her, run a hand through her hair. _Touch her!_ he wanted to yell at his onscreen self, mentally will his pixilated hands to move. But to Living Room Chandler's endless frustration, Onscreen Chandler only smiled contently back at Monica, his hands clasped resolutely behind his back. Chandler felt his lip begin to twitch, so he clenched his jaw to stop it. _I miss her. We all miss her. But this is the past. _

"For so long, I wondered if I would ever find my prince," onscreen Monica was saying. "My soul mate. Then, three years ago, at another wedding, I turned to a friend for comfort. And instead, I found everything that I'd ever been looking for my whole life. And now, here we are, with our future before us. My prince, my…"

Somewhere from beneath his nostalgic, dreamy haze, something registered with Chandler. He jumped hurriedly at the coffee table, fumbling haphazardly with the remote before managing to hit rewind.

"- soul mate. Then, three years ago, at another wedding, I turned to a friend for comfort. And instead, I found everything that I'd ever been looking for my whole life. And now, here we -"

_Rewind. _

"-wedding, I turned to a friend for comfort. And inst - "

_Rewind._

"- a friend for comfort. And instead -"

"- turned to a friend for comfort. And-"

_Rewind._

"- to a friend for comfort."

"- friend for comfort."

_Rewind._

"I turned to a friend for comfort."

_Pause. _

Chandler sat there for a long time, heart pounding. The zoomed-in image of Monica's face was still paused on the television screen.

_And instead, I found everything I'd been looking for_.

Chandler's face scrunched up into a truly reverent smile.

* * *

(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it! Only one more chapter! Wahhh D: Let me know if there is anything I may have missed, in terms of plot holes/untied ends or just anything that you want to see happen! I will try my best to add it in. :) As always, thank you so much for reading, and I'll update SOON!


	12. Central Perk and Charles De Gaulle

(A/N) Well, well... the day has come! It's bittersweet to be finishing this story, really. One the one hand, I'm so stoked to be done (something about finishing something just always makes me happy!)... but on the other hand, I'm going to have to say goodbye to this beloved project (there's something personal between us. haha, jk)! I'm not sure how happy I am with the ending, so heads up - there is a possibility that I may be editing/rewriting/adding to this chapter for a while after today... maybe as inspiration strikes? Yeah, NGL, inspiration was sparse, seeing as it's my first week of spring semester back at school! lol. But I hope it is still to your liking!

Thank you's go out to (firstly): friendsfan101, BluEyes, MorganlovesFriends, urbanamore, jayley, and friendsfan! Thank you for the kind words and reviews. I really love reading everything you guys have to say! Really, you should see my face when I see reviews in my inbox in the morning, haha. But seriously, thank yous to all the readers and reviewers that have left me kind words and inspiration throughout the course of this story... you all have no idea how much your words meant to me. And special thank yous to those who have stuck with me (I still have no idea how you put up with me, lolol) since the very first chapter - you guys are truly something special! :) LOVE YOU ALL! and I will miss having you guys along for this ride.

Notes/disclaimers: November 2000 is from TOW The Nap Partners, and February 2004 is from TOW Phoebe's Wedding.

Here goes nothing!...

* * *

November 2000

"Why does it matter so much to you?" _Plus, I__'m the one who's known Monica since we were six, _Rachel wanted to add, but didn't.

"Because this one is now!" Phoebe retorted. "And, you know, it's two of our best friends! Who knows _what_ you're going to marry."

Rachel's mouth dropped into an indignant 'O'. _Ouch. _"What if I marry Ross?" She smirked as she realized the better thing to say. "Or Joey?"

"You _wouldn't_."

Rachel shrugged noncommittally. _Probably not. _

But Phoebe remained relentless. "I've never been maid of honor to anyone before! And I know you've done it at least twice. Please, oh please? Let me be Monica's."

There was a brief silence as Rachel pursed her lips in contemplation. _Fuck. _What kind of friend– no, person – would she be to deny the once homeless, motherless girl a chance to be a maid of honor? _Damn my outstanding moral character._

"Okay." Rachel exhaled deeply and attempted a smile. "Fine. Since you've never done it before… you can be Monica's maid of honor."

"Oh! Thank you so much!"

"Mm."

The two girls sighed simultaneously and took a sip of their coffee.

"I'm gonna marry someone good, you know." Rachel's words tumbled out as if she'd been waiting a long time to say them.

"Oh, I know."

"Better than Chandler."

"Psh. Of course."

* * *

November 2000

"I met Monica when we were just a couple of 6 year olds."

Ross and Joey offered Rachel encouraging smiles from behind the counter.

"And I became friends with Chandler when he was 25… although he seemed like a 6 year old."

Laughter.

"I've known them separately, and I've known them together."

Pause.

"And to know them as a couple is to know that you are truly in the presence of love." Rachel finished her practice bridesmaid speech and lifted her cup to her lips. _Yeah. I'd drink to that._

* * *

February 2004

Ross swung open the door to Rachel's room, fake smile plastered on his face. "My God, you're breathtaking."

Rachel was sitting on the bed, still in her pre-shower robe, hair uncombed and face unmade. She felt the farthest thing from breathtaking. She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you want?"

"You haven't by any chance made a decision about who would be Mike's groomsman yet, have you?"

"Ugh. Come on, Ross, don't make this harder than it already is."

"I'm not. I'm making it easier. Pick me."

Rachel threw up her hands in frustration. _It's not always about you. _"Well, Chandler said it's really important to him too."

At this, Ross sputtered in disbelief. He stammered sarcastically, "Oh, I'm- I'm sorry. Did you and Chandler go out? Do you and Chandler have a huge history? Do you and Chandler have a, have a child together?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes even more as she considered his questions. "If I say yes, that would really freak you out, wouldn't it?"

x

"So…I think I'm gonna pick Ross."

Chandler deflated just a bit at this. Then he shrugged. "Eh, I figured. Given your history…and you used to love him…and you guys have a baby… blah, blah, blah." He pulled a face with each 'blah'.

Rachel watched Chandler, head cocked, with that squinty amused expression that seemed to make an appearance most often around him.

"What?"

"Oh, sweetie. The only thing he has on you is the baby," she smirked slightly, patting his shoulder twice before leaving the room.

* * *

September 1994

Monica Geller walked into the coffeehouse and plopped onto her usual spot in the middle of the couch. She looked like she'd been gritting her teeth for a very long time – tense, annoyed (moreso than usual, at least).

"I'm just going to venture a guess and ask – is something on your mind?" Chandler quipped, looking up from his newspaper.

"Ugh." Monica folded her arms. "It's just – Rachel."

"So is she staying?" asked Phoebe. "For good, I mean?"

Monica raised her eyebrows and threw up her arms. "I guess she's established that."

"That's going to be kind of weird, don't you think?" Joey asked.

"What do you mean?"

He elaborated, "I mean, it's kind of been the five of us for so long, you know? Now there's this new girl? _And _it means one more girl in New York that I can't sleep with? What good is she going to be?" He looked legitimately concerned.

"I don't know," Ross added hesitantly. "I mean, I think it'll be all right to have a new friend around…"

"Oh, you _would_ say that, Ross," Monica cut him off, narrowing her eyes. "You're practically giddy about having your childhood crush around."

Ross balked, pulling a childish face at his sister.

"No, no, Ross is right," Chandler started, thoughtfully. "Think about what wonders it would do for our reputations to finally be seen hanging out with a girl like Rachel. I'll finally get to be friends with a pretty girl!… it's really like the high school experience I never had."

But Chandler's happy revelation was short-lived, as Monica and Phoebe both took turns smacking him on the shoulder.

* * *

November 2010

It was a beautiful, clear-skied fall day in Washington Square Park, New York City, New York, between 4th Street and Waverly Place. Leaves were falling and a slight breeze was blowing, billowing through the ends of scarves and hems of trench coats and hair around faces.

There was a couple kissing underneath the Washington Square Arch.

After a while, the groom opened his eyes and smiled. His hand rubbed the small of his new wife's back, in comforting circles. The bride, with her long blond hair iridescent against her draped white dress, smiled back.

"How was it?" she asked, unable to stop grinning.

"Every bit as wonderful as the first one," he responded, wrapping his arms around her waist as if he never wanted to let go.

* * *

December 2007

Rachel Green was standing alone in the middle of a bustling Charles de Gaulle, waiting for a plane to land, for a friend to land. A part of her almost didn't want to see him again, knowing that the last time she had was under much unhappier circumstances. Seeing him again would undoubtedly bring back those memories – make them real again. Rachel fiddled with the thin gold bracelets along her wrist. But the other part of her really, _really, _wanted to see him. A semblance of her old life, the life she constantly missed.

Then she saw him – a glimpse of spiked brown hair and distinctly Greenwich rimmed glasses in a sea of classy French businessmen. Chandler stood out like a sore thumb. But that soreness filled Rachel to the brim with warm nostalgia, comforting familiarity that pushed outward from within her throat and almost brought happy tears to her eyes.

She waved her arms ecstatically in his direction.

"Chandler! Over here!"

Chandler looked slightly taken aback for a split second. Then he broke into a huge, genuine grin.

Rachel watched with anticipation as he fought through the throng of people and finally stopped directly in front of her. Chandler dropped his heavy duffel bags and exhaled deeply, saying nothing; simply smiling and letting it all sink in.

She was here. He was here – and had handled his charm with time exceptionally well, it looked like.

He smiled. She smiled. The noisy airport rushed on.


End file.
